


Contracted

by blazingsnark



Series: Queens of Steel; Servants of Iron [3]
Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Self-Harm, honestly there's quite a bit of dark stuff especially later but dw it's not gratuitous, someone protect Ciel please he doesn't deserve this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10992855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazingsnark/pseuds/blazingsnark
Summary: “You want me to go into the territory of one of my demon lords, trespassing on her land and overstepping her clearly-set bounds, and tell her off for 'mistreatment' of a servant she's contracted with a long time ago? And to do all this regardless of the fact that her territories are largely peaceful, and go off the word of a demon who's abandoned her world to roam Elrios with her human servant?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [List of DNDL Headcanons](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/292884) by mochigoma. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chiliarch notifies Noblesse of a problem, Noblesse is unimpressed, and neither Dreadlord or Royal Guard are happy.

“So let me get this straight.” Noblesse leaned forward, steepling her fingers together and propping her chin up on them, fixing Chiliarch with an intense blue glare and completely ignoring Dreadlord standing behind her. The back of Chiliarch's neck prickled with the insult to Ciel.

Noblesse drew Chiliarch's attention back to herself when she resumed speaking. “You want me to go into the territory of one of my demon lords, trespassing on her land and overstepping her clearly-set bounds, and tell her off for 'mistreatment' of a servant she's contracted with a long time ago? And to do all this regardless of the fact that her territories are largely peaceful, and go off the word of a demon who's abandoned her world to roam Elrios with her human servant?”

Chiliarch gritted her teeth, unable to find flaw with Noblesse's statement but also unable to get the image of Demonio's clawed and scarred back out of her mind.

“It sounds worse when you put it that way,” she finally managed.

Dreadlord's body shifted from where he'd been standing behind her. Chiliarch felt his arms brush her shoulders, assumed he was leaning casually on the back of her chair, and managed not to grin at Noblesse's disgusted expression and Royal Guard's shocked intake of breath.

“I cannot believe that one who bears the name Luciela R. Sourcream would do such a thing to her family.” Noblesse averted her eyes from Dreadlord like he'd just stuck his tongue out at her and chanted a playground taunt, coolly picking up her teacup and sipping from it. “It's simply not our style.”

“It hasn't exactly been our style to play with Transcendence before, either.” Chiliarch couldn't suppress a shudder at the word, even with Dreadlord's comforting hand brushing her shoulder. All powerful demons knew the dangers of overstepping the limits of a flesh-and-blood body, or worse, forcing a human to do so.

Noblesse raised an eyebrow and set down the teacup. Royal Guard moved to refill it as soon as it clinked back into the saucer.

“Are you sure it was Transcendence?”

Chiliarch clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, remembering Demonio taken over by darkness, Diabla laughing as mad power overtook Demonio. How could a copy of herself – both copies, damn it – be so uncaring? This was Ciel they were discussing! Ciel, the man who in each timeline had saved them from certain death, who had proved himself so special that the Lu in each timeline split her soul to protect him from Karis!

She didn't notice the outlines of her gauntlets shimmering around her fists until Royal Guard moved, his hands going to his gunblades and his eyes narrowing. Chiliarch felt Dreadlord's breath rustle her hair as he leaned forward, protective annoyance bubbling up from the general irritation on his side of the contract.

Noblesse clicked her fingers at Royal Guard without even looking at him.

Royal Guard relaxed stiffly, if such a thing was possible, forcing his hands away from his gunblades but still glaring daggers at Dreadlord just above Chiliarch's head.

Chiliarch didn't need to look to know a lazy smile was spreading across Dreadlord's face as he withdrew, masking the disgust and angry irritation in his heart. There really wasn't much Chiliarch could do to help. She simply dismissed her gauntlets and sat back in her chair, frantically scrambling for a way to convince Noblesse that the situation was as bad as they were saying.

“You don't believe that this requires your interference, right?” Dreadlord asked. Noblesse jerked her head up to glare at him.

“Are you permitted to speak here?”

Chiliarch really was going to murder Noblesse.

Dreadlord sighed and straightened up, a quick rustle of fabric telling Chiliarch he was straightening his clothes before stepping around to her side and bowing low with playfully exaggerated formality.

“Permission to speak, my dear, _darling_ mistress?” If sarcasm was poison, the air in this room would be deadlier than the Alterasia tunnels. Chiliarch tried not to grin.

“Whenever you like, Dread _lord_.” She couldn't tell Noblesse outright that Dreadlord was her equal, because the contract stated he wasn't, but she could damn well imply it until the pompous demon empress felt foolish as all hell.

“Thank you ever so much.” Dreadlord straightened, his gaze skimming over Royal Guard to rest on Noblesse. “If you don't think this requires your interference, there's a simple way to see for yourself.”

“Enlighten me.” The frost of Noblesse's voice more than compensated for the poison of Dreadlord's. Royal Guard, Chiliarch noted, looked uneasy.

“Your official coronation is coming up in a week. All the demon lords are required to come, right?”

It was a rhetorical question. Chiliarch and Dreadlord wouldn't have reluctantly dragged themselves to the demon world's palace if it weren't a mandatory thing. And since “mandatory” usually meant “get here or else we'll try out our newest torture implements”, Chiliarch couldn't imagine any demon lord who wouldn't move Elysion and Elrios to come.

Noblesse nodded anyway. Dreadlord shrugged.

“You'll be able to see her treatment of him for yourself, then. They'll be living in your palace. It shouldn't be hard for you to watch them, O mighty Noblesse.”

Noblesse bristled at the implied challenge in Dreadlord's words. Her fists clenched on the table, but Royal Guard touched her shoulder and bent low, his mouth right by her ear as he whispered something.

Chiliarch strained to hear, but either they'd thrown up soundproof wards or Royal Guard was whispering too quietly, because she couldn't hear anything.

Dreadlord shot a look at her. She shrugged and crossed her fingers under the table.

Royal Guard straightened again. Noblesse looked pensive, staring up at him with a raised eyebrow. He nodded ever so slightly to her.

Chiliarch hated stupid clandestine conversations. She coughed, earning a glare from Noblesse and a half-muffled snort from Dreadlord.

Noblesse picked up her teacup and drained it, waving Royal Guard off when he tried to refill it again. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on the backs of her knuckles after putting the cup down, studying Chiliarch and Dreadlord both. Chiliarch refused to move, staring right back while wondering frantically if a strand of her hair had gotten twisted around her horns or something. Her jacket hood was off, wasn't it? And she was wearing a proper shirt for once, right? Oh gods, were there cookie crumbs on her face?

Muffled amusement from the other side of the contract. Chiliarch shoved Dreadlord back into his own mind.

“Fine,” Noblesse finally said, breaking her eye contact with Chiliarch. Chiliarch didn't register what Noblesse was saying for a moment, still a bit preoccupied with Dreadlord's hidden laughter. Wait, Noblesse was agreeing? Really?

“My Ciel has volunteered to keep an eye on Diabla and Demonio while they're here, along with his other duties.” Noblesse scooted her chair back and stood up, not even glancing at Royal Guard. “He will decide if there is anything worth bringing to my attention. Let us drop this matter. Chiliarch, will you come with me to the library? There are a few things on the trading agreement you drafted that I'd like to discuss.”

Chiliarch debated whether it was worth pressing her luck, caught a glare from Royal Guard, and promptly dropped her train of thought. “Yeah, sure. Ciel- ah, rather, Dreadlord-”

“I said _you_ , Chiliarch. Not Dreadlord.” Noblesse turned her head, a wickedly challenging gleam in her blue eyes. “You can speak with him later – unless you've lost your contract.”

“He'd be dead if the contract dissolved.” Chiliarch glanced back at Dreadlord, raising an eyebrow and wondering if she should fight Noblesse's stupid snobbishness.

Dreadlord shrugged and winked, glancing over at Royal Guard, who was very studiously watching Noblesse. Curiosity flooded the contract from his side.

Chiliarch winked and turned away, scampering to keep up with Noblesse. “Right, whatever. Now how much would you like to fuck up our treaty with Elrios over a trade agreement?”  


* * *

 

“If you have energy to stare at me, you have energy to help.” Royal Guard didn't even look up.

Dreadlord rolled his eyes and reached for the teacup in front of Chiliarch's place, stacking it and the saucer on top of the blue china plates she and Noblesse had been using for cookies.

“Was there something wrong with the tea, by the way?”

Dreadlord stared blankly at Royal Guard.

Royal Guard gestured to the untouched liquid in the teacup. “Chiliarch didn't drink anything. Was there something wrong with it?”

Dreadlord only had to glance at the color of the tea to know what was wrong. Leftover habits died hard.

“She usually prefers stronger tea. Especially with dried fruit in the tea leaves. I'm guessing Noblesse-” He looked up, then grinned at Royal Guard's expression. “You're actually worrying about this.”

Royal Guard almost rolled his eyes. He hooked two fingers under the top piece of the almost-empty three-tiered platter and lifted it, attempting to balance delicate china in his arms while not dropping any of the leftover cookies or small cakes on the display. “Noblesse doesn't like it when her guests don't enjoy themselves.”

Dreadlord raised an eyebrow, stealing a glance at Royal Guard's back and wondering if Noblesse's displeasure manifested the same way as Diabla's. Royal Guard caught him looking and frowned.

“Help me carry the rest of that to the kitchen.” He jerked his head at the teapot, sugar bowl, and teacups still on the table. Dreadlord sighed and scooped them all up, straightened, and watched Royal Guard struggle to open the door without dropping anything.

Apparently, asking for help was anathema to this Ciel. Dreadlord walked up behind Royal Guard, bumping his knee against the three-tiered serving dish to balance it in Royal Guard's hold, wrapping thin blue chains around the door handle and pulling it open.

Royal Guard shot him a look that could have either been gratitude or annoyance.

Dreadlord shrugged, smiled, and motioned for Royal Guard to exit first with an elaborate bow that almost made him drop the tea set.

“You need to keep your back straighter when you bow,” Royal Guard casually corrected him, ducking out and starting down the hall. “Come. And your overall posture and manners are atrocious, by the way. Are our mistresses truly the same demon?”

“Apparently.” Dreadlord let the door close and half-ran to catch up with Royal Guard, gritting his teeth and pulling more energy from the contract to form the thin blue chains to wrap around the tea set and hold it secure in his arms. While it would be fun to see Royal Guard's face if Dreadlord dropped the china, he didn't think it would be worth it.

Royal Guard looked at Dreadlord expectantly as he caught up. Dreadlord stared back.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“I asked you a question.”

“My boredom filter must have been turned up too high.”

Royal Guard made a noise of disgust and turned his head away, ponytail whipping over his shoulder and almost falling into Chiliarch's untouched tea.

“Nevermind. I'll ask you later.”

Dreadlord shrugged yet again, watching Royal Guard's ponytail idly and wondering if it would actually dip into the tea. That would be funny.

As it seemed to do often these days when he was bored, his mind turned to the month he and Chiliarch had spent stranded in Diabla's territories. She'd been more demonic than even Noblesse, and the cruelly playful side of demonic nature seemed to be her thing more than anything else.

And Demonio....

“Hey, Royal Guard?” Dreadlord suddenly said, glancing over at his companion. Royal Guard didn't even look at him.

“What.”

“Does Noblesse ever punish you?”

He wasn't at all prepared for the sharp elbow that jabbed him, or the way Royal Guard stepped close and half-formed that overlarge railgun of his just enough so the muzzle could jab Dreadlord in the hip. Dreadlord stepped away and began to make a face at Royal Guard, but stopped when he saw how white Royal Guard's face had suddenly gone.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Not here,” Royal Guard said shortly. “Come.”

His strides grew longer and quicker until he was fairly running down the hall, somehow still balancing everything. It was all Dreadlord could do to keep up and not shatter himself or the tea set with the overly plush carpet dragging down his footsteps.

Royal Guard led Dreadlord into the bustling kitchens, then before Dreadlord could take in any of the scene, pulled him into a side chamber and shut the door. The moment he turned the key in the lock, the overwhelming kitchen noise from outside – pots banging, cooks yelling, the occasional yowl of a cat as it was kicked out of the way – stopped dead.

Dreadlord blinked at Royal Guard, then turned and surveyed the chamber itself. It seemed to be just another kitchen, but smaller and organized to the letter. White counters looked as if they'd freshly been wiped down, a spice rack held alphabetized dried herbs and poisons together, and a bowl of dough sat covered in the corner to rise.

“You have your own private kitchen?”

“Noblesse doesn't like anyone else preparing her meals.” Royal Guard said this casually, like it was just normal for a butler to prepare food for a demon ruler on what would probably be an hourly basis. Whatever. Maybe it was normal for Royal Guard. Dreadlord had zero inclination to find out, and less desire to care.

“Right. You dodged my question earlier, though.” He walked over to the sink and dumped the tea set gently on the counter next to it, assuming Royal Guard had to hand-wash this stuff, and began to empty the teapot. “Can you tell me here?”

Royal Guard's footsteps tap-tapped up behind him on the tile floor, then Dreadlord felt a shoulder nudging him away and a white-gloved hand taking the teapot from him.

“I'll wash. You dry. And yes.”

Dreadlord moved over, glancing around the kitchen and guessing where the drying towels were.  He guessed correctly.

“Yes, you'll answer my question? Or yes, Noblesse punishes you?”

Royal Guard turned on the tap. The sound of water flowing into the sink almost covered his nervous pause and quick intake of breath.

“Both.”

Dreadlord couldn't help but steal another quick glance at Royal Guard's back. He was shrugging off his jacket while the sink filled with soapy water, folding it neatly and laying it on the clean counter. Dreadlord noticed smooth back muscles flexing under the tight dress shirt, but no ridged scars like the ones marring Demonio's skin.

“Stop staring. We have the same body.”

Dreadlord shrugged and flipped the drying towel he'd found over his arm, coming to lean on the counter beside Royal Guard and watch the sink fill up. “So....?”

“So?” Royal Guard repeated, looking down at Dreadlord and raising his eyebrows. Dreadlord shrugged and reached for the tap, swiveling it to cold water and switching to fill the smaller sink.

“How does Noblesse punish you?”

He could swear Royal Guard flinched. His hands weren't quite steady, at least, as he took off his gloves and lay them with his coat before reaching for the teapot.

“She doesn't do it often,” he rushed to reassure Dreadlord. “I've learned to work with her over the years. Besides one incident in Lanox-”

“Aren't you going to roll up your sleeves?” Dreadlord interrupted, staring at Royal Guard's arms. He'd just been about to immerse the teapot with fabric still covering his skin.

Royal Guard grimaced and looked down, then put the teapot back on the counter and rolled up his sleeves with quick, precise movements. Dreadlord stopped him from reaching for the teapot with a hand on Royal Guard's arm, staring at it in mute disbelief.

Small, neat, uniform scars crisscrossed Royal Guard's inner arms. Both of them. And above those scars was a wound not quite fully scarred over and still a bit red around the center, a gash that Dreadlord had only ever seen on suicide victims.

Royal Guard tugged his arm back and turned away from Dreadlord's stunned silence, picking up the teapot and immersing it and his forearms in the sink.

“Just an incident in Lanox. We've understood each other better since then.”

“Did she-”

“No!” Royal Guard shook his head violently. “No. I did. She didn't... She doesn't know.”

How could she not know something was going on with her contracted servant? That didn't sound right to Dreadlord. He pushed the information across to Chiliarch, wordlessly asking her opinion, and got a barrage of images and emotions that told him no, Noblesse totally knew, there was no way she couldn't have felt Royal Guard's pain. For some reason, she just didn't say anything.

“Then who stopped you from... you know?” Dreadlord gestured to the scars.

Royal Guard glanced across at Ciel suspiciously, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“If you must know, it was Raven. But that's past us. Since then, Noblesse has only punished me one time. And I accidentally forced her hand.”

That must be the not-quite-healed cut, then. But why the hell would _Raven,_ of all people, help _Ciel_? All Dreadlord could remember of the man was a burning rage, an extreme susceptibility to fear but a lot of very good ways at coping with and hiding it, and a metal arm.

Whatever. It was a question for another time. Dreadlord mechanically took the cleaned teapot Royal Guard handed to him, drying it carefully before turning and putting it away.

“Why do you ask? Is something going on between you and Chiliarch?”

“What? No, no, nothing like that.” Dreadlord had a hard time focusing through a sudden burst of anger from Chiliarch's side of the contract. Noblesse was probably just being a dick. Pretty normal.

“Then did it have something to do with our other self?”

Dreadlord walked back to Royal Guard and started drying teacups. “Well, you're going to be judging him, so I guess I should tell you what you're watching for.”

His hands hesitated on the china of the teacup for a moment before setting it down and moving on to the saucer. It felt like betrayal, almost, to tell Royal Guard about Demonio, even though he knew Demonio needed him to speak up.

“Guess I should start at the beginning? So about a month or so ago, Chili and I-”

“You call her Chili?”

“If you're going to interrupt, I'll be glad to stop.”

Royal Guard rolled his eyes and shook soap from another saucer, balancing it on the divider between his sink and Dreadlord's before reaching for another piece.

“I'll shut up, then.”

Dreadlord dunked the saucer in clean water to rinse it, then started wiping it off. “So. About a month ago, Chili and I were traveling through Diabla's lands on our way here. She was sick of camping, and I was too, so we sought shelter in Diabla's castle.

“She was welcoming enough, once she knew who we were, but her entire territory felt... weird. Like there was some dark magic in the air keeping everyone suppressed. And it only got worse when we got to her palace. It's the creepiest thing I've ever seen, honestly, full of black stone and a bunch of severed heads that she seems to think are decorative.”

Royal Guard handed Dreadlord another saucer. Dreadlord dried it.

“But that's not really important – Chiliarch was the one who commented on all of that first. The first thing I noticed were Diabla and Demonio themselves.

“Diabla greeted us like she was a queen. Yes, I know,” Dreadlord said, catching Royal Guard's side glance, “it's her prerogative in her territory. But it was oddly pompous, unlike Chili or even your Noblesse. And her Ciel-”

His voice caught. Dreadlord swallowed and methodically took the wet teacup Royal Guard offered him.

“He follows her all the time, like a shadow. He wears all black, with this leather gag covering his mouth, and Diabla rarely lets him talk. She doesn't care about his opinion like Chiliarch or Noblesse care about ours. I mean, Noblesse listens to you, right?”

Royal Guard nodded, carefully beginning to wash the three-tiered cake tray. Dreadlord leaned on the counter and wound his dishtowel around his fingers.

“Diabla doesn't care about her Ciel,” he said. “At all. She uses and abuses him, and he can't get away from her, because she holds his contract and she's his master. She shoves all her extra power to his side of the contract, too. He can't control it. He's grown a horn, and his hair has gone completely white.”

“His body is changing because of the contract?” Royal Guard frowned as he dipped the sponge in soapy water again, starting to trace the intricate designs of the top tier platter to get all the crumbs out. “I noticed your hair went white, too.”

Dreadlord self-consciously reached up to touch his own hair.

“I accepted Chili's power willingly, though. Demonio doesn't have a choice. I tried to train him to control his power, honestly. I got Chili to stay longer than we'd planned, and I tried to teach Demonio so his life wouldn't be so hellish.”

“So that's why you were late,” Royal Guard commented, and started on the platter's second tier. “What happened with Demonio, then?”

“Diabla kicked us out.” Dreadlord shivered as he remembered the despair on Demonio's face, the way he'd immediately dropped to his knees and let himself be kicked like a rag doll even as Diabla turned to Dreadlord and demanded he and Chiliarch leave. “She didn't like me trying to make Demonio's life better. If that's not abuse-”

“It's technically allowed under a contract.” Royal Guard lifted the tiered platter and began spinning the bottom level, cleaning it, oblivious to Dreadlord's glare.

“Then the contracts are wrong,” Dreadlord hissed. Royal Guard didn't understand. Even with those scars on his arms, he didn't understand what it was like for Demonio to be abused by the one person he needed comfort from. Even Dreadlord's best efforts couldn't replace the loving feeling of having someone trustworthy at the other end of your contract, knowing that the girl who called herself your “master” would never hurt you.

Royal Guard shrugged.

“Maybe,” he allowed, and handed the tiered platter off to Dreadlord after rinsing it a final time. “But that's not an opinion you should express in front of a lot of demons, mind. As for Demonio's contract, I'll be judging him. What in particular do you think I should look for?”

Dreadlord forced himself to calm down and think.

“He has scars all over from where she hits him,” he said after a pause. “And she treats him horribly. You only need to see them for a few seconds to know she doesn't respect him at all. He's also terrified around her.”

Royal Guard hummed, reaching down into the sink to pull the plug on the soapy water. He dried his arms and pulled his sleeves down over the scars.

“Chiliarch mentioned something about Transcendence. What is that?” he asked. Dreadlord frowned.

“I don't know,” he confessed. “Chiliarch won't tell me. All I know is that sometimes Diabla forces Demonio to take a fuckton – pardon the language – of her power, and he transforms into a literal shadow of himself, only obeying her orders. It's terrifying. And he doesn't have any memory of what he does when he's in that form, either.”

“He doesn't?” Royal Guard asked. Dreadlord shook his head, concentrating on drying the intricate details of this damned fancy serving platter.

“He's injured me pretty badly when I was trying to teach him control, every single time when he slipped into that shadow state. Diabla calls it 'Madness'. Pretty accurate, honestly.”

Royal Guard hummed. Dreadlord looked up in annoyance.

“If you have something to say, say it,” he snapped. Royal Guard raised his eyebrows.

“Just thinking.” He collected the dried tea set and put it away. “You may have a point, if all that's true, but I'll be the one making the final call.”

“Fine by me.” Dreadlord wiped the last bit of water off the stupid three-tiered serving platter and stood up with it, holding it out to Royal Guard.

“So long as you make the right call, that is.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Diabla appears, Noblesse is unimpressed, and Dreadlord doesn't care about the thoughts of any Lu.

_Don’t yawn, don’t yawn, don’t yawn,_ Noblesse chanted silently to herself, fighting off the urge as the simpering noble added even more purple prose to his speech of loyalty.  Good El, the temptation to have Ciel smack him over the head with Marbas was almost as strong as the yawn clogging her ears.

Faint amusement filtered through the contract.  Royal Guard was just as bored.  Noblesse glanced at the sand clock on the opposite side of the hall, swallowing hard to try and keep that yawn down.

There was no way only two minutes had passed since the noble began speaking.  How long was he planning to go on?

And Chiliarch and Dreadlord had finally slipped in, she noticed.  Took them long enough.  Even now they weren’t exactly being respectful, Chiliarch idly lounging in the lap of a statue and Dreadlord leaning against the wall with a lazy smile.

He wiggled his fingers in a mockery of a wave at Noblesse.  She angrily directed her attention back to the noble’s speech.

“-with sincere gratitude and joy it is that I do greet this momentous occasion on your behalf, Steel Queen, and I hope to-”

An explosion of power at the gates of the palace shocked Noblesse’s senses back into wakefulness.  The noble stopped mid-sentence, fumbling and looking up.  Whispers ran through the throne room.

Noblesse heard the tap of Royal Guard’s shoes as he stepped from his customary place behind and slightly to the right of her throne, then his white-gloved hand was on her arm and he dropped to one knee beside her.

“That felt like your power,” he whispered in her ear.  “Diabla?”

“Probably.”  Noblesse weighed her options.  If it was Diabla, she wouldn’t dare try anything in the throne room, surely.  This must just be a ploy for a grand entrance.

“Stand by,” she murmured to Royal Guard.  “But keep your gunblades to hand.”

He dipped his head and lifted himself up, moving back to his place.  Noblesse rolled her shoulders and sat straighter, then summoned the diminished form of one gauntlet and slammed its palm down on the armrest of her throne.  A decisive _clang_ reverberated around the room.

“Silence!” she called in its wake.  Order immediately returned to the throne room, every eye on Noblesse.

She dismissed her gauntlet and motioned for the noble to continue, though not totally ignoring the _clack_ of heels she could hear approaching the throne room.  Hmm. A solo demon female in heels?  Wouldn’t Diabla have Ciel with her?

She glanced over at Chiliarch and Dreadlord.  Chiliarch had shot up from her lounging position, her eyes turned up to Dreadlord and her gauntlets flickering around her hands.  Dreadlord wasn’t even looking at his mistress, his gaze instead fixed on the giant double doors.  His hands were drifting towards his gunblades, Noblesse noticed.

Trepidation and concern vibrated through her contract with Royal Guard.  He’d noticed Chiliarch and Dreadlord’s position change, too.

“-and I swear loyalty to you, incoming Empress of the demon realm, Noblesse Luciela R. Sourcream!” the noble finished.

The heavy double doors slammed open in an explosion of blue.

Gasps of shock filled the hall, most demons turning away from the dark power and shielding their eyes.  Noblesse adjusted her sight and calmly stared into the center, waiting for it to clear and reveal the demon who had burst in so spectacularly.

She noticed, from the corner of Ciel’s vision, that Chiliarch had grasped Dreadlord’s wrist with a gauntleted hand.  Was that for comfort or to stop him from doing something stupid?

The power cleared as a blue fog, dispersing and rolling down to the ground.  Two demons strode down the long hall, parting the mist in front of them.  One was an adult demon with white hair and a spiky symbol of power floating behind her, blue heels and a blue dress and a diminished gauntlet on her right hand.  Noblesse recognized that face - pale, cold, set in beautiful lines of cruelty.  That was the face she used to see in the mirror every day.

 _So it is Diabla,_ Noblesse thought, and then switched her gaze to the black-dressed demon pacing at her heel.  That, then, must be Demonio - long white hair covering one side of his face, black leather and metal fitted to his body, and a black mouthguard that looked oddly like a gag.  Noblesse immediately noticed the horn curving from his head.

Huh.  Even though Dreadlord’s hair had whitened, he didn’t have horns.  Demonio must be taking more of Diabla’s power, then.

Diabla stopped in front of the throne, staring up at Noblesse with a small smile.  For a heartstopping moment, Noblesse half-expected a challenge.

But then she curtsied, bowing her head in deference, and Noblesse let out a silent breath of relief.  Behind his master, Demonio dropped to one knee and lowered his gaze to the dais’ bottom step.

“I offer my loyalty and support to the Empress-to-be,” Diabla said clearly, her voice filling the whole hall.  She lifted her head and met Noblesse’s eyes, a wicked grin flickering across her mouth.  “The lands of the Diabla will remain under the general rule.”

The dry sentiment from Royal Guard boiled down to something like, _Well, at least that was short._  Noblesse had to agree, after that horrid long speech from the previous noble.

“I accept your submission to my rule and rejoice at it.”  The words had zero feeling or meaning behind them.  Noblesse stood and dipped a shallow curtsy, more a gesture of graciousness than respect.  “We will confer on our terms later, Diabla.  Court is in session; or hadn’t you noticed in your drunken power?”

A low current of laughter ran through the throne room.  Diabla’s smile turned twisted.  Demonio drew a shuddering breath.

“Of course,” Diabla said smoothly, straightening from her curtsy and staring Noblesse in the eye.  “And when would you like to speak, my dear Noblesse?”

Diabla’s stare was predatory.  Noblesse quelled Royal Guard’s urge to draw his gunblades with a tap of her nails on the arm of her throne, easily matching Diabla’s stare.

“I’ll send a message to your quarters.”  Keep Diabla on the backfoot, remind her this was _Noblesse’s_ damn palace.  Diabla’s smile vanished.

“I shall eagerly await it.”  There was almost an edge of petulance to her voice.

The power still floating around the floor gathered around Diabla’s feet as she whipped around, striding back toward the entrance.  Demonio scrambled to lever himself off his knees and follow.

The throne room doors banged shut behind the pair.  Noblesse noticed, in the stunned silence following their departure, that Chiliarch and Dreadlord slipped out behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dreadlord attempts to comfort Demonio, Demonio refuses to be comforted, and Royal Guard is just sort of confused.

It felt like knives were stabbing Demonio’s mind.  He kept his head down, focused on following Diabla’s footsteps perfectly, and did his absolute best not to attract her attention.  The power overflowing from her was even more than usual - let out by her emotions.  Even her control over her adult form had slipped, leaving her back in the childlike body she hated so much.

What had Dreadlord said to do?   _Create a barrier_ , he remembered, and carefully visualized a brick wall blocking Diabla’s power from his ravaged mind.  It worked for barely a moment before the power burst through and the wall vanished.

_Useless worthless stupid-_

He could feel his hold on his body slipping, a slow dark fire expanding from the center of his chest.  Diabla noticed too; her head whipping around and her eyes fixing on Demonio.

“Don’t you _dare_ slip into Transcendence,” she hissed.  Demonio did his best to cordon off the flames and nodded.

With his concentration taken up by the looming threat of madness, he didn’t notice Dreadlord until cool hands were pressing onto his shoulders and words of concern were being blown across his ear.

“Dem, it’s okay.  Calm down.  You feel about ready to overflow,” Dreadlord murmured.  Demonio’s heart jumped.

_Dreadlord was here._

He wanted to relax into Dreadlord’s touch, let him help with the madness, but Diabla-

Diabla turned around and frowned at Dreadlord.

Demonio froze and shut his eyes.

“Get your hands off him,” Diabla spat.  But Dreadlord only reaffirmed his grip on Demonio’s shoulders.

“I didn’t try and _help_ just for you to abuse him again,” he spat right back.  “He’s nearly in Madness.  How hard have you been pushing him?”

“Just what you said,” Diabla lied.  “He’s been lazy recently - because of _you_.”

Lies.  Lies lies lies, Diabla had forced him to stop trying to wield power over their contract, forced him to take far more of her power than he could handle, she was mad and wanted him to join her in madness.  Demonio’s chest tightened to where he couldn’t breathe.

“You expect me to believe that?” Dreadlord asked, his voice low, almost threatening.  His fingers dug into Demonio’s shoulders to a level that would be painful if Demonio’s pain tolerance hadn’t been increased.  Demonio winced still, frantically trying to calm down enough to inhale more than a thin fraction of air.

Diabla scoffed.

“Don’t take that tone with your betters,” she snapped.  “Don’t think I’ve not noticed how Demonio thinks of you.  He daydreams about you when he should be serving me.  He-”

Demonio couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped him, fighting to draw air into his constricted lungs.  Diabla’s fury locked onto him.  He shrank back, his heart beating ever-faster - he shouldn’t have interrupted, shouldn’t have made a sound, Dreadlord’s hands were warm and comforting on his shoulders, but they shouldn’t be, they shouldn’t be this warm (his temperature dropping into shadows?) and they shouldn’t be this comforting (he should find comfort only in Diabla) -

Dreadlord’s lips brushed his cheek, grounding him for a few more precious seconds.  His breath ghosted across Demonio’s skin even though he directed his words to Diabla.

“If you want him to remain in this form,” he said, low and steady and dangerous, “then you’ll let me take care of him right now.  If you would rather it be discovered by the _entire court_ how you pushed Demonio into transcendence, then I can step away and tell Chiliarch to throw the throne room doors open.”

Diabla’s power spiked with rage.  Demonio could feel himself slipping again, the pain from Dreadlord’s grip fading to mere pressure.

“Fine,” she gritted out.  “Demonio, I expect you back as soon as possible.”

She whipped around and marched away.  Her tail lashed behind her.

Demonio couldn’t breathe still.  He vaguely felt Dreadlord’s lips on his cheek again, pleading words from the half-demon, his hands unclenching from Demonio’s shoulders and arms running around Demonio’s torso to securely hold him close.

“Hey, it’s okay, relax, Dem.  Do you want to go somewhere private so you can regain control?”

Demonio nodded, not trusting himself to speak, not sure if he even _could_ speak.   Diabla vanished around the corner.

Another small hand took Demonio’s, and he looked down even though he knew it wasn’t the Lu he craved.  Chiliarch stared up at him, worry in every line of her expression.

“I’ll go try and talk her down,” she said quietly to Dreadlord.  “Just concentrate on taking care of Demonio.”

Dreadlord nodded.  After another meaningful glance between him and Chiliarch, the little commander of fear spun around and ran after Diabla.  Dreadlord took Demonio’s hand gently and tugged.

“C’mon, let’s get you somewhere safe, okay?”

Numbly, Demonio nodded and followed Dreadlord.  He saw only vaguely the hallways Dreadlord was leading him down, his vision edged with darkness.  It felt like his skin was burning and freezing at the same time, the familiar shadow madness of Transcendence.

Dreadlord pulled him into a small room and immediately made Demonio sit down, wrapping his arms around Demonio again.  Demonio leaned into the touch and tried to remain in his solid human form.

He couldn’t say how long it took, but eventually his body calmed.  He could feel his heartbeat racing again, sending blood through his veins, his throat dry and Dreadlord’s tight hug painful around his waist and chest.

He squirmed.  Dreadlord immediately loosened his grip.

“Diabla is going to be pissed,” Demonio whispered, reaching for his contract.  Power still overflowed from it, only slightly calmer now.

Dreadlord rested his chin on Demonio’s shoulder.  “Don’t think about that right now,” he murmured.  “Remember how I told you to protect yourself from her?  Go ahead and try that again.”

Demonio felt Dreadlord’s terrifying power nudging at his mind.  He resisted with another nervous check of his contract.

“Diabla doesn’t want me to try and block her power.”

“Do I look like I care?” Dreadlord muttered.

Demonio flinched from the harshness in his tone.  Dreadlord sighed and planted an apologetic kiss on Demonio’s jaw.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from her.  But you need to let your mind recover a bit.”

Demonio caved, letting Dreadlord’s power flow through him.  Gentle blue joined his own tainted blue in a wall, keeping Diabla’s black madness from tearing apart his mind yet again.

His veins stopped burning.  Demonio took a deep breath and glanced around.

It seemed Dreadlord had brought him into an unused servant’s room.  They sat on the small bed pushed up against one wall, a wardrobe and a desk the only other furniture in the room.

“Are you okay now?” Dreadlord murmured.  Demonio turned himself around enough to bury his head in Dreadlord’s shoulder.

He still smelled like cookie dough and steel.  Demonio smiled under the mouthguard, then winced as the movement made his cracked lips hurt.

“Better,” he whispered.  “I missed you.”

Dreadlord’s lips pressed to the top of Demonio’s head.  “I missed you too,” he murmured.  “What happened while I was gone?”

Demonio had no qualms about trusting this man, not after Dreadlord had soothed him out of Transcendence multiple times, after Dreadlord had trained him to control that shadowy form.  So he took a deep breath and told him.

“Diabla… forced me to stop what you told me to do.  She doesn’t want me trying to control our contract,” he said.  “She wants me pliable, easily controlled, and loyal only to her.  Every time I let thoughts of you slip out of my inner mind…”

He shuddered.  Dreadlord’s hand smoothed over his scarred, aching back.

“With her gauntlet?” he asked, and Demonio nodded.

There was a knock at the door.

Demonio jumped.

“What-” he started, then cut himself off.  Could someone have overheard his confession?  Diabla would be mad.  Or maybe even worse, and it was her, finally about to finish what she’d threatened to do and kill-

Dreadlord kissed him gently on the forehead, right next to his contract mark.

“It’s okay,” he breathed.  Then he looked up and raised his voice.  “Who is it?”

“Royal Guard.”

Royal Guard - that must be the other Ciel, the one who served that proud Empress Lu.  Noblesse, she called herself, right?  Demonio remembered seeing him for a brief second before he knelt, a specter of blue standing behind Noblesse’s steel throne.

“I asked Noblesse to help you,” Dreadlord reminded Demonio, looking back into his eyes.  “She wants Royal Guard to see for himself what you’re going through  Can you tell him what you told me?”

“I can’t,” Demonio gasped.  “When I told you, Diabla nearly killed me.  If I told anyone else…”

“Nearly killed you?” Royal Guard asked.

“I didn’t say you could come in!” Dreadlord snapped.  Demonio looked over his shoulder to see Royal Guard standing in the middle of the room.

Pressed suit, perfect posture, shining blue hair.  Steady, dark blue eyes - the eyes of a killer.  He would be Diabla’s ideal, Demonio thought dizzily.  Both of his alternate selves outclassed him.

He wanted to flee.  This had been a bad idea, asking Dreadlord to plead his case.  Even with Dreadlord’s warm arms around him, he felt unsure of himself, scared of Diabla’s reaction if he were to say anything.

“I-”

“Demonio,” Dreadlord muttered, and Demonio felt gentle fingers stroking through his long hair.  “It’s okay.  Calm down.  We’re going to protect you.”

Diabla wouldn’t like that.  But when Royal Guard hummed his assent, Demonio looked over.

Holding his gaze, Royal Guard reached down and rolled up his sleeve.  Demonio stared at the thin, precise scars crossing Royal Guard’s lower arm, the barely-healed suicidal gash marring his wrist.

“Believe me,” Royal Guard said quietly, “I know Lu’s displeasure.  And I’m not asking this lightly.  Please, tell me what happened.”

Demonio heard Dreadlord’s breath hitch.  He lowered his eyes.

_So Noblesse was capable of cruelty too._

“She used to be kind,” he whispered, feeling like he was betraying his master with every word.  “She used to be gentle.  She even threw herself in front of a spear to save me, because I was too stupid and _slow_ to protect her.”

Royal Guard walked across the floor and sat down on the bed.  Demonio shrank from that imposing presence, burrowing into Dreadlord, knowing he was being weak and pathetic but really not caring much.

“What happened to make her change?” Royal Guard asked quietly.

“She… I don’t know,” Demonio confessed.  “She got her power back, somehow.  I was so happy for her - I thought we’d become strong together, and we’d still be the perfect partners.  I was… wrong.”

Dreadlord’s arms tightened around Demonio.  He relished the security.

“Her power started changing her, I think.  She started getting crueler and crueler, and eventually, it overflowed into our contract.  I couldn’t hold onto my humanity.”  That wasn’t quite right.  Demonio shook his head and corrected himself.  “She didn’t _want_ me to hold on.”

Royal Guard shifted his weight.  Demonio looked up, not wanting to see Royal Guard’s face, simply latching his gaze onto those precise scars and drawing strength from them.

“I started performing worse and worse in battle.  I remember one time, it was too much and I collapsed.  I woke up to her kicking me.”

His ribs ached with the memory of those vicious blows.  Dreadlord’s hand gently rubbed across that area, soothing the remembered hurt.

“It got worse.”

Somehow, talking lifted a weight from Demonio’s heart, pouring the story to Royal Guard.  He felt sick at the thought.  Betraying Diabla made him happy.  He really was a terrible, horrible servant.

“She… started hurting me more,” he said haltingly.  “Every time I mess up, every time something isn’t perfect, she punishes me.  When Dreadlord came and tried to train me to control Transcendence-”

“Transcendence?” Royal Guard interrupted.  “What is that?”

Demonio swallowed, remembering the icy fire running through his veins, the intoxicating power and barely-there control.  “She makes me take all of her power, and it changes my body.  I can’t control myself when she does it, which is why she likes it.”

Royal Guard said nothing, but his lips pressed into a thin line.  Demonio felt Dreadlord’s arms tighten.

“You’re scaring him,” Dreadlord murmured with a glare at Royal Guard.  The other Ciel looked away.

“Sorry.  Go on.”

“He - Dreadlord, I mean - pressed me to tell him,” Demonio whispered.  “He tried to confront Diabla.”

He shuddered, remembering the cold fury that had overflowed and driven him to his knees.  Royal Guard’s voice cut through the memory.

“What happened?”

“She…” Demonio whispered.  “She clawed me.”

His back hurt.  He curled in on himself, wanting the pain to stop.

“She’d never hit me with her gauntlets before.  But she started then.  And every time I think of Dreadlord now, she hits me again with one.  I- I can’t-”

He was crying, he realized.  Pathetic.  Tears slid warm down his cheeks and disappeared into his mouthguard, wetting his chapped lips.

“That wasn’t my best idea, was it,” Dreadlord murmured.  His gentle thumb pressed against Demonio’s cheek, wiping the tears away.  Demonio couldn’t stop them from flowing.

“Clearly not,” Royal Guard agreed with a familiar dry sarcasm.  Demonio remembered, in another life, a man called Verni berating him with the same tone.

Dreadlord moved Demonio’s hair, tucking his long bangs behind his ear.  Royal Guard’s stare suddenly became intense again.

“You have one black sclera.”

Demonio averted his gaze, self-consciously touching the cut under that eye - Diabla had hit him with a glancing blow the other day for not immediately complying with a petty order - and nodded.

“It went dark when my horn grew.”

Royal Guard nodded and wetted his lips with his tongue.  He seemed to be trying to think of something to say.  Demonio waited, resting his head on Dreadlord’s shoulder.

Now that the burning madness of Transcendence wasn’t haunting him, he felt exhausted.  How long had it been since Diabla had allowed him sleep…?  At least a week, possibly more.  Sleep, food, both things she didn’t seem to remember his partially-human body still needed.

“You said she… claws you,” Royal Guard finally said.  Demonio winced and nodded.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Dreadlord warned Royal Guard, tightening his arms around Demonio yet again.  Royal Guard held up his hands.

“Noblesse won’t believe me, you know.  She trusts me, but she doesn’t want to believe that one of her alternate selves could be abusing an alternate me.”

Demonio once again looked at those straight scars on Royal Guard’s inner arms.  Without meaning to, he spoke - more comfortable in Dreadlord’s presence than anywhere else.  “Didn’t she give you those?”

Royal Guard winced and quickly pulled his sleeve down again.

“I… no.  I punished myself so she wouldn’t have to.”

 _The perfect servant_.  Demonio once again drew back, hating himself for being so weak, hating Royal Guard for being Diabla’s ideal.

“Just talk to Diabla, then,” Dreadlord was saying.  Demonio tried to concentrate on the conversation through his sudden wave of self-loathing.  “She’ll tell you all about how she abuses Dem.  It’s disgusting.”

“Why would she tell me?” Royal Guard asked.  “I have the authority to punish her, or at least to bring her to someone who would.”

“Two reasons,” Dreadlord said.  His arms tightened once more around Demonio, and Demonio was grateful for the stabilizing force.  “First, she’s weirdly proud of how she’s treating him.  It’s abhorrent.  And second, she doesn’t think of us contracted humans as important.”

“Doesn’t… Ah.”  Royal Guard’s face lined with confusion, then smoothed over. “I see.  That’s a rather old mode of thought.”

Demonio drew breath to say something, but then the contract twisted, wiping his mind blank with annoyance.  He winced.  Dreadlord’s grip tightened.

“Are you okay?” Dreadlord murmured, and Demonio managed to shake his head.

“Diabla wants me back,” he whispered.  He didn’t want to leave.  Dreadlord was warm, and Diabla was cruel and cold, unhappy that he’d been relaxing and talking with his alternates.  She didn’t know what they were talking about - she never cared - she just wanted him back.

Demonio forced himself to stand.

“S-sorry,” he stammered out at the confused look on Royal Guard’s face, and drew his mouthguard back up over his face.  The warm leather settled into its familiar place on his chapped skin.

Dreadlord, at least, understood.  He got up and gave Demonio a quick kiss on the mouthguard over where his lips would be.

“Come back safe,” he murmured, not letting Demonio leave.  Demonio bowed his head and nodded.

“Please do,” Royal Guard added.  “I’ll see what I can do about your… situation.”

Demonio could hear the doubt in Royal Guard’s tone.  Nothing would happen, would it?  There was no reason to hope.  There never was.

Diabla ordered him to come.  Demonio obeyed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diabla manages to hit Royal Guard where it hurts. Demonio is silent throughout.

The training grounds of Noblesse’s palace were quiet, most of the invited nobility not preferring to subject themselves to physical training.  That was fine with Diabla.  It meant fewer people would see her Ciel training and know what he was capable of.  Stuffy nobles thought themselves too good for fighting.  Back when Diabla had almost been empress, that sort of thinking hadn’t been viable at all.

She sat on the shoulders of a training dummy, idly kicking her small heels against the straw that made up its ‘chest’, and watched Demonio practice.  The crack of his sniper rifle was the only sound breaking the silence.  He switched fluidly between targets at all different angles and distances, only taking seconds to line up a different shot before pulling the trigger.

All fifteen targets had holes in them in a span of maybe half a minute.  Diabla hummed and jumped off the dummy as Demonio lowered his sniper rifle.

“Good boy,” she said, and strolled past him to check the targets.  In battle, her Ciel’s aim had to be perfect.  It should _definitely_ be perfect here.

Most of the targets had holes only through the exact center, Demonio’s aim exactly as she expected it.  Diabla hummed in satisfaction, then the hum turned into a hiss at the sight of the furthest target.

“Ciel~” she called, not bothering to keep the annoyance from her voice.  In only a second, Demonio was kneeling beside her, his eyes downcast.

She yanked his chin up and directed his face at the target.

“Look at that,” she grumbled.  “It’s almost half a centimeter off.  What the fuck, Ciel.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice muffled behind the black mouthguard.  Diabla frowned.  He had the _mouthguard_ on, how dare he speak?

She summoned a diminished form of her gauntlet and backhanded him across the face.  Demonio fell to his hands and knees.

“For sass,” Diabla said, and then slapped him the other way, drawing a gasp of pain from Demonio.  “And for missing.  Do it again.”

Demonio barely paused before he dipped his head, long white hair falling haphazardly over his shoulders, and rose to his feet.  His mouthguard hid the bruises that were sure to appear from Diabla’s hits.

Diabla leaned against the edge of the target and watched as Demonio walked back to resume his sniping spot, the black rifle already beginning to form in his stained hands.  She had no intention of moving.  Demonio would just have to not miss.

“Diabla?” she heard from behind.  She hissed and turned to see Noblesse’s Ciel, Royal Guard or something pretentious like that.

“What do you want, servant?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. How dare this human interrupt her practice with Demonio?  Back in her day, servants weren’t so presumptuous.

Royal Guard dipped his head in respect, though he didn’t kneel like servants used to.

“Lu- Noblesse,” he amended, “wanted me to speak to you about a few things.  She regrets she couldn’t come herself.”

For a moment, Diabla debated whether it would be worth it to send this servant away and demand to speak with Noblesse herself.  Then again, if Noblesse truly had sent her Ciel as her emissary, that could mean political hell for Diabla if she kicked him out.

The courtyard was silent, without even the familiar crack of Demonio’s sniper rifle.  Diabla looked back to see him standing with it in his hands, watching Diabla and Royal Guard.

Were his hands shaking?   _Pathetic._ He must be daydreaming about Dreadlord again.  She jabbed his mind through the contract, then paused, scooping up the words that floated to the top of Demonio’s thoughts.  Huh.  Had Royal Guard really said that?

“Did I tell you to stop?” she called crossly.  Demonio jolted, shook his head, and raised the rifle to rest against his shoulder.

Royal Guard coughed.  Diabla switched her gaze back to him.

“Fine,” she said crossly, and walked out from in front of the target, not flinching as Demonio’s first shot slammed scant inches from her into the dead center of the target.  “Let’s _talk_ , then.”

Royal Guard seemed confused by her acidic tone, but nodded and gestured to the benches placed in the courtyard for anyone who wanted a break from training.  Diabla strode over to them and hopped up on the seat.

“No,” she instructed as Royal Guard moved to sit as well.  “Doesn’t Noblesse teach you manners?  Servants are either supposed to sit on the ground or stand.”

Royal Guard sighed.  “Perhaps a few hundred years ago,” he said, and sat down on the bench.  Diabla curled her lip.

Demonio was _much_ better behaved than this insolent still-human Ciel.

“Noblesse wants to know how much support you’re willing to give her empire,” Royal Guard said.  “This can be in the form of currency, troops, magical resources-”

“I’m not some newblooded noble, I know what support means,” Diabla snapped, taking pleasure in the way Royal Guard flinched at being cut off.  Really, trying to explain things to _her_?  Diabla itched to punish Royal Guard, teach him the price of disrespect, but that would again be political suicide.  Whatever, she’d just have words with Noblesse about _properly_ training a servant.

“I can lend my troops and magical resources if needed, as well as my own expertise on the field of battle - or anywhere else Noblesse might be out of her depth,” she continued, and smiled sharply when Royal Guard’s eye twitched at the implied insult.

He looked away and pressed his palms flat against his thighs, like Demonio used to do when he was angry and didn’t have his emotions under control.  Ha.  This Royal Guard truly was pathetic.

“Your territory has one of the largest deposits of amandine,” Royal Guard said, and it sounded like he was fighting to keep his voice steady.  Diabla cut him off again.

“Noblesse will have to trade with me for it.  It’s the rarest metal in this world; did she think she’d be able to get it for free?”

Royal Guard said nothing, his lips drawing into a tight line.  Diabla grinned.  Weak this servant might be, but winding him up was proving to be fun.

“What a disappointment you are,” she sighed.  “And here I was hoping the third Ciel would be at least a _little_ intelligent.  Noblesse must not have trained you properly at all.”

Ciel’s fingers curled, digging into his own thighs, hands shaking with anger.  But when he spoke, his voice was as forcefully steady as ever.

“Perhaps you should give her advice on that instead of offering to advise her in matters which she’s already expert in,” he said, frost lacing his tone.  “I assume you have Demonio… _trained_ … to your satisfaction?”

Diabla had to bite back a snarl.  “Of course he is,” she snapped, and looked up at Demonio.  The obedient servant hadn’t stopped practicing with his sniper rifle since Diabla and Royal Guard began talking.  Now Diabla shot a thought through their contract and waved him over.

“Ciel,” she demanded, and pointed to the ground at her feet.  Demonio instantly dismissed his sniper rifle and walked over, then sank gracefully to his knees on the spot Diabla had indicated.  Diabla patted his head.

“See?” she asked triumphantly, twisting some of his long white hair around her fingers and feeling Demonio flinch.  “This is how a servant is supposed to behave.  And when they don’t, a good master punishes them.”  She released Demonio’s hair and leaned back.  “Shirt off,” she ordered.

Demonio barely hesitated before his stained fingers went to the armor wrapping around his waist, methodically removing it and laying the pieces to the side.  Once that was done, he pulled his deep blue shirt off as well, folding it neatly and laying it on top of the armor.

Royal Guard’s sharp intake of breath was obvious.  Shock?  Horror?  Envy?  Diabla grinned and looked down at her servant, enjoying the sight of scars clawed and whipped across his lean muscles.

“See?  A good master is supposed to guide a servant to obedience, and punish them when they’re not.”  Diabla once again twined her fingers into Demonio’s hair, then yanked his head back harshly and drew her finger across his throat.  Demonio stared up into the sky, his mind and eyes blank.

“He’s so obedient I could kill him right now if I wanted, and he wouldn’t do anything,” she bragged, and Demonio made no reaction.  “Can you say the same, Noblesse’s servant?”

Royal Guard didn’t seem to like being addressed like that.  His hands flexed.  Diabla grinned.

“I don’t see a point in dying unless it’s to protect Noblesse,” he said, his voice lower and colder now.  Diabla almost felt a flicker of emotion in Demonio.  Angry, she yanked at his hair, and his mind went blank again.

“Only the unskilled servants have to consider dying to protect their master,” she scoffed.  “How pathetic.  My Ciel can protect me through anything.  Can’t you, Demonio?”

She ran her finger along the top of his mouthguard and pulled it down just enough to allow him permission to speak.  Demonio swallowed.

“Yes,” he murmured obediently.  Diabla patted his bruised cheek and shoved his mouthguard back up.

“That you even have to _think_ about dying is pathetic,” she told Royal Guard.  “My Ciel could kill you without even using his weapons.”

“Is that so,” Royal Guard murmured, his voice neutral and controlled.  His hands hadn’t moved from their tense position against his thighs, though, so Diabla knew he hadn’t gotten his emotions out of the way.

“Of course,” she said.  “He can take on my power and transform into my perfect little shadow.  Isn’t that right, Ciel?”

Demonio gave a minute nod.

“Our contract is stronger than any other,” Diabla bragged, then released her grip on Demonio’s hair.  Demonio immediately bowed his head and went still.

Royal Guard, she saw, was still staring at Demonio’s scars.  She snorted.

“What, so shocked that masters exist who don’t let their servants go so deep into disobedience that they have to punish themselves?”

Royal Guard jolted, and Diabla knew Demonio’s information had been correct.

“You know, if your contract was strong, your precious Noblesse would have felt your pain as you cut,” she said, and Royal Guard flinched again, unable to meet her eyes.  Diabla pressed further.  “So either your contract sucks, or your precious, kind, sweet Noblesse doesn’t give a shit about you.  I’m going to guess it’s both.”

“You know _nothing_ ,” Royal Guard hissed.

Oh, so this was his breaking point?  His hands clenched into fists, his body practically shaking with anger and shame, his cheeks a deep red?  Diabla smiled.

“Apparently, I know more than Noblesse.”

Abruptly Royal Guard stood up, not even bothering to incline his head or bow.  Terribly impolite.

“I will relay your offers of support to Noblesse.  She may wish to open further negotiations,” he said, his voice tense and almost quavering on the edge of cracking.  “Good day.”

And he strode away.  Diabla laughed him out of the courtyard, stroking Demonio’s hair.

“Well, at least you’re better than either of them,” she said condescendingly, and Demonio’s mind flickered up from blank servitude, a little light of hope and warmth igniting.  Diabla let it glow.   He’d done as expected, after all, and showed off his training for Royal Guard.

“Now back to practicing,” she said, and shoved him in the chest with her foot.  Demonio reached for his shirt and armor.  Diabla kicked him harder.

“Did I say you could put that on?”

Demonio froze, then he hunched his shoulders and shook his head.  Diabla scoffed.

“And here you were being so good.”

Demonio rose without complaint, once again materializing his sniper rifle as he strode shirtless to the middle of the courtyard.  Diabla rested her chin on folded hands and watched him.

The scars rippled across his muscles as he shot, every bullet perfect, his training perfect and his mind nearly there.  Diabla smiled.

Soon.  Soon, Ciel would join her in madness, and the whole of her kingdom would again belong to her.

She just needed to bide her time a few days longer, until that snobby Noblesse’s coronation.  And then all of them would be gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royal Guard relaxes. Noblesse does not. Royal Guard tenses up, but Noblesse tells him to calm back down. Nobody is happy about Diabla.

“I brought your tea.”

Noblesse looked up, tapping the feather end of her quill against her cheek, then motioned to the clear space on her desk.  “Put it there, Ciel.  And close the door.”

He did so, carefully bumping the door shut with his hip before setting the tray down and pouring Lu a cup.  A splash of milk, a sliver of sugar, just the way she liked it.

It clinked into the saucer next to her.  Royal Guard stood straight again as Noblesse sipped the tea.

She made a noise of approval and set it back down, then looked up at Royal Guard.

“Nobody’s around.  You don’t have to be perfect right now.”

Permission to relax.  Royal Guard rolled the stiffness from his shoulders and pulled the tie from his hair.

“Mind if I sit?”

Noblesse nodded and waved her hand to indicate the bed. Royal Guard poured himself a cup of tea before sinking down onto the plush mattress, winding his hair ribbon around his wrist and gently massaging his scalp with his fingertips.  That tight ponytail hadn’t been helping his headache any more than the lack of food - he hadn’t managed to find time to eat today - or this damn investigation.

“So,” Noblesse said, setting down her quill and turning to face her Ciel, “what about that whole thing with Diabla?”

Royal Guard took a sip of tea, trying to figure out how to phrase this.  There really was no delicate way to tell Lu that her alternate self was abusing his alternate self even beyond the rights of a contract.

Well, they’d always enjoyed more freedom with each other after the palace was asleep and nobody was spying on the empress.  Time to use that.

Royal Guard set his teacup down on the saucer.  “I think Dreadlord’s right.”

Noblesse groaned and rested her chin on one hand.  “Explain.”

“Everything Dreadlord told us about was there - scars all over Demonio, one black sclera, and Diabla’s abysmal attitude towards him.  She threatened to kill him to prove a point about his obedience.”  Royal Guard shrugged, then winced and realized just how sore his shoulders were from being held in the same stiff position all day.  “I saw her slap him with her gauntlet on, too.  Demonio says she’s started punishing him harshly for no apparent reason.  Which is-” it hurt his throat to say the word- “ _acceptable_ with a contract like the one we made, but it looks like the contract itself is being frayed too.”

“Huh?”  Noblesse looked up.  “I saw Diabla regained her adult form.  Don’t tell me they’re playing with Transcendence.”

“Apparently.”  Royal Guard shifted his weight and took another swallow of his tea.  “By the way, what is Transcendence?  The way Demonio described it was bad enough, but you don’t look happy to hear it.”

Noblesse looked thoughtful.  “I don’t suppose you’d ever have come across it,” she mused.  “Transcendence is… an elevated state of being.  Technically, everyone can achieve it, but only the strongest can survive.  Pushing someone into it before they’re ready is dangerous.  Pushing a human into it through a demon contract is one of the only things that all demons despise - sort of like rape in Elrios.”

Royal Guard took a moment to process this, filing the term away.  If Transcendence was so dangerous, then why was Diabla using it?

“She called him her ‘perfect little shadow’,” he offered.  Noblesse stared at him.

“You _talked_ to her about it?”

“When I was asking what support she could give you, yes.  I asked about the relationship between her and Demonio.  She bragged that he could beat me without his gunblades.  Demonio told me that she pushes him into Transcendence so she has total control over his actions.”  Essentially.  Royal Guard left out Diabla’s insults, staring down into his teacup and swirling the dark liquid.  Her words hurt, he wouldn’t deny it, but he was secure enough in his position and his contract not to let them bother him too much.

Noblesse was looking at him curiously.  Royal Guard was too late pushing the thoughts away.

Noblesse carefully skimmed that information off the top of his mind and read the scene.  Royal Guard watched as her expression changed from incredulity to anger.

“That fucking-” she spat, slamming down her teacup so hard that it shattered, tea spilling onto the blue glass of her desk.  “I’m going to _murder_ her.  Why didn’t you tell me about that, Ciel?!”

_Shit._ At least he'd managed to hide Diabla's last few jibes.

“It’s not the worst insult I’ve ever gotten,” he said in an attempt to placate her.

Noblesse did not seem to want to be placated.  She swept her reports aside and turned around to glare at Royal Guard.

“You’re my servant,” she spat.  “If you are disrespected, it casts a stain on me for allowing it.  Even beyond that, you’re my Ciel - I won’t have you, or our contract, insulted.”

Royal Guard raised his eyebrows and sipped his tea, letting his silence speak for what they both knew to be true.  Even as the servant of the highest demon in the realm, his contract and lingering humanity put him under even the lowest demon-blooded servant in the palace.

“I won’t say I’m not angry too,” he finally said, setting the teacup back into the saucer with a _clink_ and putting it aside to walk over and clean up the tea on Noblesse’s desk.  Noblesse moved to allow him space, grumbling.

“I’m going to kill her.”

“That might be messy,” Royal Guard said mildly, and swept the shattered teacup shards into one hand.  “Better to humiliate her, isn’t it?  And reprimanding her for her conduct-”

“-would have to be done in front of witnesses if it were to have any effect, and we don’t have evidence to present to the court.”  Noblesse’s tail lashed as Royal Guard moved away.  “Besides, a lot of things are permitted under contract.  Forcing someone into Transcendence is, like, the only thing you’ve mentioned that’s _not_ permitted.”

“Please don’t ever say ‘like’ again.”  Royal Guard rolled his eyes as he sat back down and filled his teacup again, then handed it to Noblesse in place of the one she’d shattered.  “And Transcendence seems it could be evidence in itself, if it’s so abhorred.  We’d just have to get him to transform in front of the court.”

“You’re suggesting _we_ push him into madness like that?”  Noblesse almost growled.  Royal Guard pressed his lips together.

“It’s not an idea I like, either.  But is there a better option?  I’d hate leaving that bitch - excuse the language - to do what she wants to an alternate version of myself.”  Demonio’s voice echoed in Royal Guard’s mind, laced with despair and hurt.

Noblesse’s tail lashed again.  Royal Guard skimmed the contract to get a read on her emotions.  It seemed she was debating between concern and anger, so he left it alone, simply waiting out her internal tantrum.

Finally, her shoulders slumped and she sighed, staring down into the dark amber tea Royal Guard had handed her.

“We’ll reprimand her in private first.  I don’t want to destabilize Diabla’s territory, ‘cause she does hold a sizable chunk of land, but this has to stop.  Talk to Dreadlord again,” she ordered.  “We need to find out what’s the best thing to do for Demonio.”

Royal Guard nodded, rolled his shoulders, and moved to stand.  Noblesse glared at him.

“Sit _down_ , I didn’t dismiss you.  Don’t go do that right now.  When’s the last time you ate?”

Royal Guard blinked, trying to remember.  It hadn’t been this morning, because he’d had to sort out that kerfuffle with the changing of the guard, then he’d had to help Lu prep for court….

“Um, yesterday?” he hazarded, wincing at Noblesse’s instant venomous glare.

“Right.  Go eat, Ciel.  And then I want you to sleep in my room tonight.”

Sleep… damn, it’d been a while since he’d gotten more than three consecutive hours of that, too.  Royal Guard glanced away.

Noblesse huffed a sigh that could have been a laugh.  She put the tea down on her desk, slipped off her chair, and walked over to Royal Guard, the bed dipping with her weight as she climbed up next to him.

“You damn perfectionist,” she muttered, and then leaned against Royal Guard’s side.

“Only the best for you, Lu.”

She hit him gently on the arm.  Royal Guard could see how hard she was trying not to smile, could feel her happiness through the contract.

“Shut up,” she said, and then immediately added, “Whatever would I do without you?”

Royal Guard grinned and poked her.  “Probably crash and burn.  You’re welcome.”

Now the smile broke through, lighting up her small face.  Royal Guard felt his heart stop.

“Go eat, Ciel,” she repeated.  “That’s an order.”

Royal Guard bent to kiss her gently on the head, slid off the bed, and knelt reverently.

“Of course, my queen.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diabla is plotting. Noblesse is scolding. Royal Guard gets the worst of both worlds.

“She wants to see us, huh?”

Demonio nodded, his mouthguard off and hanging at his collarbone.  “As soon as possible, in her private gardens.”

“Finally realized it’s not a good idea to keep me waiting,” Diabla grumbled, and patted Demonio’s head.  “Contract for you.  Keep an eye on things and be ready to kill if necessary.”

Demonio raised his eyes just slightly, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked lips.  Diabla stared at him.

“Is there a problem?”

“Forgive me,” Demonio said quickly, looking back at the floor, “I was just… curious.”

He braced himself for a hit.  Diabla withheld it.

“Curious about what?”

Demonio took a measured breath, carefully weighing his words.  Not that it mattered.  Diabla could see the general shape of his question through their contract.  She laughed.

“Oh, why I want you to be ready to kill?  Ciel, really.  Did you think I would be content with just that one parcel of land?  I want my kingdom back.”

Demonio’s gaze flicked up again.  Diabla reached out, tilted his chin up, and met his eyes.

“You, my dear Ciel, are going to shoot Noblesse as she coronates herself.  And then my reign will begin again.”

She saw the quickly masked surprise in the widening of Demonio’s eyes, felt him flinch with shock.  She smiled.

“Chiliarch, too, and Royal Guard.  You’ll kill them all.  And if you’re good, I’ll add Dreadlord to our contract, and train him properly so you can serve me together with him.”

Demonio’s mind went blank.  Diabla patted his head.

“Starting to obey already?  Good,” she purred.  “Now, contract for you.”

Demonio bowed his head, pushed his mouthguard up, and vanished in a sparkle of blue.  Diabla felt his dark astral form settle inside their contract.  She checked to make sure her gauntlets were where they needed to be, debated for a moment whether she should use her adult form (there was no point, she decided), then walked out of the borrowed guest chambers, heading down the familiar halls and out of the castle, into Noblesse’s private gardens.

The flowerbeds were buzzing with pollinators, planted with bright nightshade and deadly wolfsbane.  Diabla walked the gravel paths with the certainty of someone who’d long known them.  With Demonio behind her, Diabla was certain she could take back what was rightfully hers.  Who would stand in her way?  Chiliarch and Dreadlord were weak, and she’d observed them enough to know how they thought.  Noblesse was nothing without Royal Guard behind her, and the information he’d so carelessly revealed to Demonio gave her leverage to drive them apart.

The thought thrilled her.  She turned the corner to see a small cleared area, her eyes immediately alighting on Noblesse and Royal Guard.

They weren’t in formal dress, and no table was set for tea.  So this was to be a casual meeting.  Diabla grinned.

“Noblesse,” she greeted.  “Finally decided to confer on terms, hmm?”

Royal Guard slipped out from behind his master, quietly moving to activate the soundproof wards around this area of the garden.  Noblesse waited until the runic blue walls had flared up before answering.

“Perhaps later,” she said.  “For now, I want to talk to you about Demonio.”

Had he been misbehaving?  Ugh.  Diabla felt Demonio shrink back in the contract, and she directed an angry thought at him, the promise of later punishment.

“My Ciel has told me some disturbing things,” Noblesse continued.  “I’d like to remind you that excessive cruelty will not be tolerated under my rule.”

Oh.   _Oh_.  It wasn’t Demonio at all, just that meddling Dreadlord.  Diabla threw back her head and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Noblesse asked sharply.  Diabla heard Royal Guard’s footsteps on the gravel behind her, moving to return to Noblesse’s side.

“You’re scolding _me_ about caring for _my_ Ciel?” she asked.  “Oh, that’s rich.”

Noblesse stared.  Diabla grinned, then, with a twist of her contract, she was in the adult form they’d all lost so long ago.  Noblesse looked _small_ when Diabla was like this.

“What are you talking about?” Noblesse asked.  “There’s clear evidence that you’re abusing Demonio.  He saved you, why would you-”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Diabla interrupted, and spun around, catching Royal Guard by the collar before he could pass her.  “You act like you care about your own Ciel.”

Royal Guard tried to pull away.  Noblesse stepped forward in anger.

“Let him go,” she hissed.  Diabla ignored her, reached for Royal Guard’s wrists, and yanked his sleeves up.

Royal Guard froze.  Diabla cast her eye over the layered scars there.  All neat, straight lines, obviously intentional, obviously painful.  The failed suicide gash drew her attention, and she giggled.  So much for “only dying to protect Noblesse,” then.

From Noblesse’s look of shock, she hadn’t known about any of this.  And Royal Guard was still frozen in her grip, staring down at his master.  Diabla could feel the tension humming in the air between them.

Perfect.

Diabla let the tension stretch for a few moments, then Royal Guard began struggling, trying to pull away.  Diabla grabbed his wrist and squeezed, rolling the fragile bones there against each other, and Royal Guard went still with a gasp of pain.

“Don’t act surprised,” she chided the silent Noblesse.  “This much pain?  You would have known about it, even with the limited strength of your contract.  Why didn’t you punish him yourself before it got to this point?”

Royal Guard flinched.  Noblesse swallowed hard, then her gaze flicked away from Royal Guard’s scars for the first time, up to his face and then to Diabla.

“What, no answer?” Diabla mocked.  She released Royal Guard, then viciously shoved him towards Noblesse.  He tripped and fell to his knees.

He was trembling.

Noblesse remained silent.

Diabla’s smile widened, and she turned to leave, but not before throwing one last barb over her shoulder.

“Really, just train another servant.  This one is clearly a failure.”

* * *

 

Their walk back was silent.  Royal Guard had pulled down his sleeve, but he could still feel the ghost of Diabla’s clawed touch, throbbing over the mostly-healed scars on his arms.

Noblesse had closed off their contract so that he couldn’t check her emotions.  After a few minutes of this torturous silence, Royal Guard couldn’t take it anymore.

He cleared his throat.  Noblesse looked up at him.

“You aren’t… angry, are you?” he asked, and then immediately, not sure why he felt guilty, apologized.  “I shouldn’t have kept it from you, I know.  I should have told you-”

“I knew it was happening,” Noblesse said.

Royal Guard stopped in his tracks.

Noblesse took a few more steps before she realized Royal Guard wasn’t shadowing her.  She turned and looked at him.

Royal Guard struggled with the emotions welling in his heart.  Regret, confusion and  anger battled for control over him.

Anger won.

“You knew-?” he whispered, unable to stop his voice from shaking.  Noblesse glanced away.

“I- yes,” she admitted.  The words felt like a punch to the gut.  Royal Guard couldn’t draw breath.

“You knew I snuck away at night to cut,” he repeated.  “And you didn’t even try to stop me?”

“I didn’t know how!” Noblesse exclaimed, and looked back up at Royal Guard with wide eyes.  “I didn’t- You were in so much pain, and I didn’t know how to address it, but you always felt better after you cut, so-”

“That’s not a good thing!” Royal Guard yelled, and he realized he was yelling at _Lu_ , but he couldn’t stop once the dam of anger and hurt had been broken.  “I wanted your attention, I wanted your _love_ , and you couldn’t look past your goals for long enough to realize it!  Lu, I was going to kill myself!  Did you know that?  Did you know I wanted to throw away this life you gave me?  It was Raven that stopped me, not you!”

Noblesse flinched back.  For just a moment, she looked like the vulnerable girl Ciel had saved in the first place, but then the contract flickered and Ciel realized her emotions were still cut off from him.  His anger overwhelmed the gleam of pity.

“If I died, would you even care?” he spat.  “Or would it be like Diabla said?  Would you just move on and get another servant that you could train more easily?  One more powerful than me?”

“Ciel-” Noblesse tried, reaching out for him.

For the first time ever, Royal Guard slapped her hand away.

Noblesse recoiled, holding her hand close to her chest, staring up at her Ciel in shock.  Royal Guard struggled to find words.  Guilt raced through him, diluted by the anger and hurt, along with that need he hadn’t felt in years.

The need to take a blade to his skin and let the pain pour out with his blood.

“I- I need to be alone,” he choked out, and then turned and fled, heedless of Noblesse’s pull through the contract and her calls for him to come back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royal Guard is suffering. Dreadlord is helpless. Demonio understands.

“What do you think is up with him?”

Dreadlord fired off one last shot, then lowered his gunblades, glancing down at Chiliarch to see where she was pointing before looking up.  Royal Guard was walking across the courtyard.

He wasn’t coming towards them, though, and he seemed distracted - stiffer than usual, his hands shaking, his head bowed instead of held high.  Dreadlord sheathed his gunblades.

“He looks like Demonio when he’s upset and trying to hide it,” he mused.  “Doing a shit job of it, though.  Wonder what happened?”

“You should follow him.”

Dreadlord blinked and looked down at Chiliarch.  “I should _not_.”

“And why not?”  She dismissed her gauntlets and tilted her head, watching Royal Guard vanish into the hall outside the courtyard.  “He was scared.  He positively reeked of fear, actually.  It was… weird.  I wanna know what’s going on.”

Dreadlord only hesitated for another moment before his good nature won out.  He sighed and bent down, patting Chiliarch.

“Fine, you win.  I’ll shadow him and see what I can find.”

Chiliarch grinned and shooed him away.  Dreadlord rose and, making his steps silent, glided after Royal Guard.

He seemed to be making a beeline for the kitchens.  Dreadlord dropped back, always a corner behind Royal Guard, ensuring that even if Royal Guard looked over his shoulder he wouldn’t see a pursuer.  It wasn’t the most effective tactic.  Since Royal Guard was, in fact, Ciel, he would definitely know how to foil it.  The fact that he didn’t even seem to notice he was being followed put Dreadlord on edge.  Something was definitely wrong here.

As he’d expected, Royal Guard ducked into the kitchens.  Dreadlord leaned against the wall, checked in with Chiliarch, counted to sixty, and then went in after him.

A wave of scent and sound hit him as soon as he opened the door.  Dreadlord took a moment to adjust to the pre-lunch hustle, moving to a corner out of the way of any harried cooks, and glanced around. Nowhere in the room could he see Royal Guard’s blue livery.

Crap, had he lost him?  Dreadlord turned, passing his defeat to Chiliarch through the contract, then immediately negated it as he remembered the hidden kitchen to the back.

 _Forgetful,_ Chiliarch teased.

Dreadlord shooed her back into her own mind, then made his way through the chaos of the kitchen, finding the door to Royal Guard’s private kitchen.  It was locked.

Crap.

He glanced around, noticing a few cooks looking at him.  Of course, seeing a contracted servant in the kitchens without his master would be weird.  Dreadlord waved them away and bent to the lock.

He could just leave.  But now he was curious, and it had been something like this that had led him to Demonio, after all.  When he thought of the fear on Demonio’s face that night so many weeks ago, he couldn’t just leave.

He drew a slim leather wallet out of his jacket, selecting the lock picks he’d need and telling Chiliarch what he was doing.  Chiliarch scoffed, amusement flooding the contract.

_For someone who was so reluctant to follow him, you’re certainly not now._

Dreadlord shushed her absently, concentrating as he inserted the tension wrench and the pick into the lock.  A few seconds later, the tumblers clicked into place, and Dreadlord put his tools back into their wallet before he opened the door.

The kitchen seemed empty at first glance.  Dreadlord furrowed his brow and looked around again.  If Royal Guard wasn’t in here, then where-

Ragged, muffled breaths interrupted his thoughts.  Dreadlord stepped forward, and Royal Guard came into view, huddled on the floor in a corner made by two cupboards.  The refrigerator had blocked him from sight of the door.

He didn’t seem to notice Dreadlord was there.  His sleeve was pulled up, baring his scarred forearm, and something glinted in his other hand.

Dreadlord realized what it was just as Royal Guard pressed the knife to his skin.

“Shit, stop!” he snapped, flashing across the kitchen and dropping to his knees beside Royal Guard, grabbing his knife wrist and wrenching the blade away.  It skidded across the floor with a clatter and disappeared under the fridge.

Royal Guard reacted instinctively.  Dreadlord ducked his punch, then grabbed his other wrist, pinning him against the cupboard.

Now that he was close, he could feel the fear rolling off Royal Guard in waves.  Wow.  He wished Chiliarch were here; he could amplify fear, but didn’t know how to lessen it.

“Let go of me,” Royal Guard snapped.  Dreadlord shook his head, feeling Royal Guard’s scars under his palm.

“Hell no,” he snapped right back.  “You were about to cut.  What happened?  Why would you-”

“Oh, like you care.”  Royal Guard struggled again.  Dreadlord gritted his teeth and held on, and suddenly, Royal Guard went limp.

“Just… leave me alone,” he pleaded.  “I need… I need to-”

“Dread?  Is something wrong?”

Dreadlord felt Royal Guard tense again at Demonio’s voice.  The noise of the regular palace kitchens swelled into the room as Demonio opened the door to step in, then fell silent once more when Demonio pulled the door shut and walked into view.

“You-!”

Royal Guard broke free from Dreadlord’s distracted grip with a twist of his body.  Dreadlord scrambled to hold him again, but Royal Guard was too fast, up in a second and knocking Demonio back into the wall.  His white-gloved hands wrapped around Demonio’s throat.

“Royal Guard, stop it!  Ciel!” Dreadlord yelled, scrambling to his feet and trying to pull Royal Guard away.  He shook Dreadlord off easily, still keeping his hold around Demonio’s throat.

“You told her!” he yelled, tightening his grip.  Demonio struggled, but he wasn’t in a position to push Royal Guard off, and the lack of air wasn’t helping.  “You- you told Diabla about my scars-”

“No choice,” Demonio gasped out.  Dreadlord tried to break Royal Guard’s grip and pry his fingers away from Demonio, but Royal Guard just hissed.

A wave of deep blue power left Dreadlord’s ears ringing and his balance off-kilter.  Dimly, he felt Chiliarch protecting him from the full force of Royal Guard’s wrath, wanting to know if everything was alright and if he needed to retreat, but he couldn’t muster a response.  He staggered back, tripped, and crashed to the floor, dazed.

Demonio was still struggling, but weakly, the light slowly leaving his eyes as Royal Guard choked him.  Dreadlord tried to get up, but the room spun and a myriad of whispers in his head confused his senses, making him collapse again.

“Stop it,” he managed.  “Royal Guard-”

Royal Guard staggered back suddenly.  Demonio collapsed to his knees, gasping in a shuddering breath.  Royal Guard stared at his hands.

Chiliarch’s power cleared the whispers from Dreadlord’s mind in a sudden flash of blue.  Dreadlord sent a wave of gratitude over to her, but only panic and demands returned.  She wanted him out of there and safely beside her.

Dreadlord shook his head, shut his contract to her, and dragged himself up.

“Dem-”

“Sorry,” Royal Guard said at the same time, his voice and hands shaking.  “I-”

He collapsed to the floor like his knees suddenly didn’t have the strength to hold him.  Demonio’s gasping breaths subsided slowly, and he pushed himself up to kneel, watching Royal Guard warily.

“Diabla told Noblesse, didn’t she?” he rasped.  Dreadlord blinked.  Royal Guard clutched his forearms and looked away.

“Yes,” he muttered.  “But…”

“She already knew.”

Once again, Royal Guard nodded at Demonio’s statement.  Dreadlord rocked back on his heels, stunned.

How could Noblesse have let Royal Guard continue with that? Hell, why had he been about to cut just now?  Was it because of that?  Why hadn’t she stopped him?

Demonio hesitated, then his stained fingers went to the mouthguard.  He slowly pulled it down, letting the symbol of Diabla’s control slip off his face.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

Dreadlord stared as Royal Guard nodded yet again, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his scarred arms close to his chest.  Slowly, hesitantly, Demonio reached for him.

Royal Guard flinched when Demonio’s stained fingers touched his shoulder, but he didn’t do anything else.  Demonio scooted forward.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Dreadlord didn’t know what to say.  He stood awkwardly by as Royal Guard lifted his gaze, met Demonio’s eyes, and then slumped forward, his shoulders shaking as long-repressed sobs tore from his chest.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royal Guard is still suffering. Noblesse does her best.

She could feel him crying through their contract.

Noblesse gritted her teeth, staring down at the court order in front of her.  She needed to read this, she needed to sign off on it or tear it into shreds, she had work to do, but Ciel’s pain tore her heart and mind so that she couldn’t concentrate.

Finally, Noblesse dried her quill and lay it aside, leaning back and sighing through her teeth.  The library was quiet.  The only external sound was the shuffling of books as the librarian reshelved them.

Oh, and internally, Noblesse heard Royal Guard sobbing.

It tore at her, honestly, to know he was in such pain.  Why hadn’t she stopped it before this?  She’d known he was in pain all the way back on Elrios, when they were still traveling with the Elgang, but she’d assumed it was temporary.  It would pass, she’d thought, and Royal Guard - Ciel - would come to accept and enjoy his new station as her trusted servant.

When he’d started cutting, she’d thought it was a coping mechanism.  Some demons scarred themselves ritually in order to hold greater magic.  It was only after Raven had lost his temper, yelling at her over Ciel’s frightfully still body after that suicide attempt, that Noblesse had realized it wasn’t normal.

She’d thought they’d come to understand each other better after that.

Maybe Royal Guard had just learned to hide his pain.

Another spasm of anguish made her wince and close her eyes, gritting her teeth against Royal Guard’s feelings.  She needed to make amends with him.  Hesitantly, she opened the contract.

A flood of pain made Noblesse gasp, clutching at the arms of her chair.  It felt like her heart was being squeezed by an iron hand, her mind crowded by worry and pain like moths filling her skull and making her thoughts move slowly.

Was this what Royal Guard had been dealing with?  Noblesse was a fool for not realizing his pain earlier.

 _Ciel_ , she tried, reaching through the contract, but a wall of pure pain blocked her from Royal Guard’s thoughts.  Another spasm of anguish tore through her.

_What if she’d damaged her contract irreparably?_

She needed to see him.  Noblesse stood up, hesitated for only a second while glancing at her materials, then cast a ward over them so they wouldn’t be stolen and strode out of the library.  

It was all she could do not to break into a run, staying at a purposeful walk.  A few of her advisers glanced sideways at her, but they were smart enough not to interrupt her.  Just as well.  With the pain and guilt eating at Noblesse right now, anyone who dared stop her might find a spear piercing their chest.

She barely noticed the halls she was walking down, only knowing she was tracing Royal Guard’s flight from her.  Noblesse entered the kitchens without much care for the disturbance she was causing, stalking straight down the aisles of stoves and shelves and ignoring the confused looks she got until she reached the small door set into the back wall.

It was unlocked.  The soundless wards shimmered blue in Lu’s sight, and through the fabric of magic, she could hear Ciel’s heart wrenching sobs.

Gritting her teeth, she entered.

Royal Guard knelt on the floor, his body wracked with tears.  Noblesse’s vision narrowed until she could only see him, could only feel the worry and pain gnawing at him.

Why had she left it this long?

“Demonio, Dreadlord,” she ordered, her eyes on Royal Guard, “get out.  Now.  I’ll take care of him.”

Royal Guard actually flinched.  With that tiny action, Noblesse could feel her heart crack.  She tried to extend comfort and sympathy towards him through the contract, but found him still blocked off by a wall of blue glass.

She could break it, if she wanted.

She didn’t want to break into her Ciel’s mind.

Demonio was looking at her, she noticed, and Dreadlord hadn’t moved.  She tore her eyes away from Royal Guard for just long enough to glance at them.

“Go,” she ordered again.  “Dreadlord, gather Chiliarch and meet Royal Guard and me in the library in fifteen minutes.  Demonio, stay out of Diabla’s way for the next few hours.”

Demonio hesitated for only a second before he touched Royal Guard’s shoulder once again, pushed up that black mouthguard, and slipped out, taking care not to touch Noblesse even in passing.  Dreadlord took a little longer to leave, and hesitated as he passed Royal Guard, only walking out after Royal Guard gave him a small nod.

Noblesse waited until the door had shut behind both Ciels before she broke.

She crumpled to her knees beside Royal Guard, gently pulling the ribbon from his hair, running her fingers through the blue strands and wiping his tears away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Royal Guard wouldn’t look at her.  He was unmoving under her touch, his mind frozen behind that wall.  The anguish pouring from his side of the contract didn’t stop, though it was tinged now with a different flavor - confusion?

“I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry,” Noblesse said again, and stroked Royal Guard’s hair again, wanting to do more but not sure how, wanting to pull Royal Guard close and let him cry but not tall enough.  “I knew you were cutting, but I didn’t know how bad it was…”

“Why didn’t you try to stop me?” Royal Guard whispered.  Noblesse looked at the floor.

“I… I was stupid,” she admitted, and then she couldn’t find words, so she opened her mind to Royal Guard instead, without any reservations or walls.  She poured her regret, her confusion, her fear for him through the contract, the way she didn’t know what to do about his pain and how sorry she was she’d left it alone for this long.  The fear she’d felt when she saw him on the ground sobbing.  The anguish and guilt that had torn her when he slapped her hand away.

And, overwhelmingly, the love she still felt for him.

Something tickled her cheeks.  Noblesse touched her face, and her fingers came away wet.  She stared at the tears uncomprehendingly for a moment before realizing what they were.  She hadn’t cried in…. Decades.  Centuries.  She couldn’t remember the last time.

“Ciel,” she whispered, reaching out for him through the contract.

Royal Guard shuddered, then looked up, fear and pain still in his expression.  His eyes widened with shock to see Noblesse crying.

She closed her eyes.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

For a moment, she could see the blue glass wall around Royal Guard’s mind waver, then it shattered.  His fear and pain and devastation rushed her mind, making Noblesse gasp and curl in on herself automatically, shaking from the onrush of emotion.

Ciel was scared.  Ciel didn’t want her to abandon him.  Diabla’s words had cut him deeper than either of them had thought - he couldn’t get her smirk out of her head, the callous way she treated Demonio, and he couldn’t stop comparing it to the way Noblesse treated him.

“No,” Noblesse whispered, and she moved forward, seeking Royal Guard’s warmth.  “I couldn’t - I don’t treat you like her, you’re _important_ , you’re _my Ciel_ -”

Royal Guard shifted so he was no longer kneeling, but sitting cross-legged on the floor.  Noblesse crawled into his lap and pressed her hand against her chest, over where she knew the contract mark was seared into his skin, and felt his arms go around her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “Don’t feel guilty, Ciel.  I’m the one who’s wrong here.”

“But,” Royal Guard whispered, his voice hoarse from tears, “if I hadn’t kept this hidden-”

“I should have known anyways,” Noblesse interrupted.  The depth of pain in Royal Guard’s mind was such that she should have known something was wrong.  Her own ambition had blinded her to her closest friend, her family, her Ciel.

Royal Guard fell silent, but his arms tightened around Noblesse, wrapping her in warmth.  Noblesse reached out with her mind and brought Royal Guard closer into the contract, so close his physical body practically wavered, embracing him with the same comfort the only way she could.

“No more secrets,” Royal Guard whispered.  Noblesse buried her face in his shoulder and shut her eyes.

“None.”

  
  


They were late to meet with Chiliarch and Dreadlord, but Noblesse didn’t care.

Royal Guard had washed his face, but his eyes still bore traces of redness, the sign of recent crying.  Noblesse didn’t bother to hide her own puffy eyes.  They only needed to look strong for the rest of the court, she realized now.  For Chiliarch and Dreadlord, it didn’t matter as much.

Chilarch was pacing across the library when they walked in.  Dreadlord’s eyes immediately went to Royal Guard, and he raised one eyebrow.

Noblesse walked over to the work she’d left scattered across the table and neatly organized it before sitting.  Automatically, Royal Guard stepped to stand behind her, but Noblesse stopped him with a thought and waved him to sit down.

He looked at her in shock.  Noblesse looked back up at him and repeated her request.  She didn’t want him to act like a servant, not right now, when they’d barely cleared the air between them.

Royal Guard sat to her right.  Dreadlord stared.  Chiliarch used a chair as a stepping-stool, then sat on the table.

“You two seem quiet,” she commented, blinking at Noblesse and Royal Guard, then Noblesse saw deep blue magic sparkle around Chiliarch and expand in a bubble as she cast a soundless ward.

Noblesse ran over it with her own magic and patched up a weak spot.

“You need to work on casting those,” she said.  “I trust Dreadlord told you what happened between Royal Guard and I, so I won’t repeat it.”

Dreadlord nodded and leaned forward.  “Royal Guard, are you okay?”

Royal Guard glanced at Noblesse, asking what he should say.  Noblesse waved the question off, wanting him to answer truthfully.

He hesitated.

“I think so,” he finally said, his voice rather shaky.  Noblesse closed her eyes in acceptance.  She knew they had a long way to go before their contract was as strong as she’d thought it was.

“Beyond that,” she said, interrupting whatever Dreadlord had been about to say and changing the subject.  “We need to talk about Diabla and Demonio.”

“You’re actually going to help?” Chiliarch asked.  Noblesse opened her eyes and glared.

“Why do you sound shocked?”

Dreadlord drew breath to respond, then stopped, looking over Royal Guard’s shoulder.  Royal Guard and Noblesse twisted around to see Demonio standing beyond the sound ward, his chest heaving.

With a wave of her hand, Noblesse took down the ward.

“What’s going on?” Dreadlord asked, immediately standing and moving towards Demonio.  Chiliarch stood too, still on the table.  Demonio closed his eyes.

“Diabla,” he said, then coughed.  Dreadlord pulled Demonio’s mouthguard down, revealing a fresh bruise on his jaw.

Demonio opened his eyes and looked straight at Noblesse.  “She’s planning to kill you and take your crown.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demonio is also suffering. Diabla is also "trying".

Noblesse started backwards, her eyes wide.  Demonio bent his head.

“I- I know I shouldn’t tell you this,” he managed.  He could feel Diabla’s cold fire at the back of his mind, behind the wall he’d erected before the contract.  “She’ll be mad at me if she finds out I’m revealing her plans.  But-”

But why was he saying it?  He should be loyal to Diabla, not betraying her like this.  A sick feeling rose in Demonio’s heart.

Dreadlord’s touch tethered him to reality.

“What did she threaten you with?” he murmured.  Demonio latched onto the question.

“She’s going to kill all of you.  No, she’s going to make _me_ do it,” he corrected himself, and didn’t miss the way Royal Guard automatically reached for the gunblades holstered at the small of his back.  Noblesse quelled the movement with a gentle touch to his arm.

“Even us?” Chiliarch asked, eyes wide.  Demonio shook his head.

“No.  You, yes, but she- she wants to add Dreadlord to our contract.”

Chiliarch hissed, her gauntlets flickering around her hands and her eyes glowing blue.  Dreadlord’s grip tightened on Demonio’s arms.

“Fuck that,” he spat.

Demonio managed a wry smile, glancing up and towards Dreadlord to see his sharp teeth bared.

“That’s what I thought,” he breathed.  Of course Chiliarch and Dreadlord wouldn’t want their contract severed.  They had the perfect partnership.  To think Diabla wanted to destroy that, wanted to break Dreadlord down… That was something Demonio couldn’t stand.

Yes, that was why he was betraying Diabla, he realized, able to put words to the churning discomfort in his chest.  For Dreadlord.  He didn’t want to see kind, strong Dreadlord broken like he himself had been.

“You have to hurry,” he said, switching his gaze to Noblesse.  Her cool blue gaze disturbed him.  Besides that initial start, she didn’t seem very worried at his information, even though Royal Guard was fidgeting.  “She’s planning to do it at your coronation tomorrow.  She’ll ward the room so nobody can get out and force me to snipe you and Royal Guard down, then switch my aim to whoever she wants.”

“Snipe?” Royal Guard asked, his eyes narrowed.  This was a far cry from the sobbing man Demonio had comforted just half an hour ago.  Demonio looked away.

His sniper rifle was Diabla’s pride and joy.  She wanted him to keep it secret so nobody knew where his next shot was coming from.

Hands trembling, Demonio reached into the contract and pulled it out.

The smooth black metal warmed his hands as it materialized, humming with all the lives it had taken to strengthen itself.  Muscle memory curled Demonio’s finger around the trigger before he quite realized it, then he hastily reverted his grip, setting his index finger firmly on solid metal.

Noblesse gasped.  Dreadlord reached for the gun.

“I knew you had it, but I’ve never seen it before,” he murmured.  Demonio stood still and allowed Dreadlord to run his finger along the black metal, seeing his hand shake as he sensed the power.

“You knew he had it?” Noblesse asked.  Demonio managed not to wince at the frost in her voice.  Dreadlord looked up.

“Chili and I stayed with Dem and Diabla for a few weeks, remember?” he said.  “But I was mostly concerned about Dem’s Transcendence.  He can’t use the rifle in Transcendence.”

Royal Guard looked at Demonio and, staying silent, raised his eyebrows.  It was an old interrogation tactic, making the target uncomfortable, one that Demonio remembered using himself in his human life.  He complied anyways.

“Diabla controls me almost fully in that form,” he explained.  “She can’t aim a sniper rifle.”

She’d tried once.  Demonio remembered nothing about that, just like all his sessions in Transcendence, except for when he came to, he was lying flat in a crater.  Diabla had been standing over him, fuming.

He shook away the memory and checked that his barrier on the contract was strong.  She was going to be mad about that, but he could wall off these memories so she didn’t know he’d betrayed her.

Probably.

“I remember seeing you practicing with that, now that I think about it, but I was too focused on Diabla to really notice.  If we’d known you could snipe, we would have changed the security precautions,” Royal Guard was saying thoughtfully.  “We should do that.  I’ll tell the guard captain-”

“No,” Demonio snapped, and all eyes were on him again.  He ducked his head, suddenly shy.  Dreadlord squeezed his shoulder gently.

“No?”

“No,” Demonio confirmed.  “If she thinks you know… she’ll just wait for another opportunity.  And she’ll be mad at me.”

Dreadlord’s hand was warm on his back.  The scars there throbbed like broken wings, the painful memory of Diabla’s displeasure.

But she could also be kind.  Even as the scars sent dull aches of pain through him, Demonio remembered Diabla’s hand soothing away the hurt, her healing magic coursing through his veins, her gentle voice telling him it would all be okay if he’d just be more obedient.  If he’d just trust her more.  The contract flickered behind his barrier.

“Also, don’t kill her,” he found himself saying.

Even Dreadlord seemed surprised at that.  Chiliarch leaned forward.

“Why not?” she asked.  “She’s _horrible_ to you.”

Demonio didn’t expect her to understand.  He looked instead at Royal Guard, remembering the way he’d sobbed, holding his blue gaze.

“I know,” he said, his heart feeling heavy with the admission.  “But she’s still my Lu.”

Royal Guard subconsciously rubbed his wrist, then apparently realized he was doing it and pulled his hand away.  Noblesse glanced at him.  He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“Alright,” he said, and from the tone of his voice, Demonio knew he’d make sure that request was followed.  “What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know,” Demonio admitted.  “But whatever you decide, don’t tell me.”

“Don’t-?” Chiliarch repeated, tilting her head.  Demonio smiled sadly at her.  Dreadlord was lucky, to have such an innocent Lu.

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to keep a secret from her.  Just in case I slip up, or Diabla manages to get past my defenses, don’t tell me.  Please.  It’s safer that way.”

“But our plan is going to involve you in some way,” Royal Guard put in.  He and Noblesse glanced at each other, and Demonio could practically see them exchanging ideas in the flicker of their eyes.  “Are you okay with that?”

Demonio hesitated, glancing at Dreadlord.

The other demon’s eyes were steady, his hands barely shaking as he tucked Demonio’s hair behind his ear.  Demonio’s demonic sight overlaid his normal vision, allowing him to see the steady life force throbbing in the center of Dreadlord’s chest, the strong contract stretching between him and Chiliarch.

“I trust you,” he murmured to Dreadlord.

Dreadlord held his gaze for a moment, then nodded.  Demonio turned again to face Chiliarch, Noblesse, and Royal Guard.

“Don’t tell me,” he repeated.

Diabla wanted him back.  She was suspicious.  Demonio should go.  He pulled away from Dreadlord, walking toward the door and bracing himself.

“Ciel,” Chiliarch ordered, “go with him.  I’ll speak for you while we plan.”

Demonio glanced back to see Dreadlord nod gratefully and spin, two strides taking him to Demonio’s side.  He shook his head.

“Diabla wants me to go to her,” he muttered.  Dreadlord raised his eyebrows and took his hand.

“What, and you want to just waltz back without a good excuse for why you were gone and blocking the contract?”

He had a point, as much as Demonio was loathe to admit it and put him in danger.  He hesitated for a moment, checking his barrier on the contract, and then nodded.

“Alright.”

Dreadlord smiled.  Demonio let himself be tugged out of the library and down the winding halls, into an empty room, where Dreadlord shut the door and turned to him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, moving close.  Demonio let a long sigh escape through his teeth.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.  “She hasn’t been pushing me into Transcendence, so my mind’s been able to recover a bit…”

“I noticed,” Dreadlord said.  “You’re more coherent than you have been other times.”

Demonio half-smiled.  “Am I?”  His mind certainly felt more intact.  Being pushed into Transcendence always made his mind feel fragmented, like thoughts couldn’t travel properly, every nerve burning with overstimulation and exhaustion.  It had gotten better when Dreadlord was teaching him to control it, but after he left…

Demonio wrenched his mind away from the painful thoughts when he felt a gentle touch on his jaw.  He stood stock-still as Dreadlord traced the shape of the bruise there.

“What happened?”

“I missed a shot,” Demonio murmured.  “And backtalked her.”

“Her gauntlet again?” Dreadlord asked, and frowned at Demonio’s nod.  “She could have broken your jaw.”

Demonio shrugged.  If she had, she would have healed it.

Dreadlord’s gentle finger traced the bruise all the way to Demonio’s lips, outlining them with a feather-light touch.  Demonio gave a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes, enjoying Dreadlord’s intimacy.

“She’s coming to find me,” he murmured, feeling his barrier shake under Diabla’s assault.  Dreadlord’s power twined into his mind, strengthening him, helping him close off the memory of the discussion in the library until Demonio himself could barely recall it.

“Let her,” he murmured, and sealed Demonio’s reply away with a kiss.

Demonio pressed into Dreadlord, flattening his body against Dreadlord’s, bringing his hands up to clutch at the vest underneath his jacket and tilting his head to allow Dreadlord better access.  Dreadlord clutched him just as desperately, leaving butterfly kisses at the corners of Demonio’s mouth and all over the bruises on his jaw, but always coming back to Demonio’s chapped lips.

The sense of Dreadlord filled Demonio until nothing but him and the contract remained, and the latter even pushed to the back of his mind.  He kissed back, attempting to twist his head to capture Dreadlord’s lips even when the other demon determined to kiss the bruises, and was rewarded with a low laugh.

The door slammed open.

Demonio felt Dreadlord ripped from his grasp, the air suddenly cold against his body where Dreadlord had been.  He stumbled backwards.

His barrier fell.

The cold flame of Diabla’s contract scorched his mind, seizing upon the memory of them kissing, her scream of rage echoing in his skull.  Demonio dropped to his knees automatically, cowering from her wrath.

Somewhere deep in his heart, he was glad she was mad only about that and not about something else.  That was a dangerous thought.  He shoved it down.

“You-” Diabla shrieked. Demonio didn’t have time to brace himself before his ribs cracked with the force of her kick, then her gauntleted hand caught him a glancing blow across the shoulder.  Demonio fell to the ground, cold concrete against his cheek, trying to breathe through the pain.

Dreadlord had been flung into the wall, he saw now.  Diabla turned and stalked toward him.  Demonio sucked in a breath through his teeth, trying to reach out.  Dreadlord was stunned from the blow, he was getting up, but he wasn’t going to make it-

Diabla’s gauntlet cracked the concrete floor.  Dreadlord had disappeared.  Only the faint shimmer of an astral form remained, and even that dissipated into the air as Demonio watched, Dreadlord safe in his contract with Chiliarch.

He sighed in relief, then tensed once again as Diabla whirled toward him.  Oh, no.  She was going to be mad at him for running off and kissing Dreadlord, she was going to scold him for being distracted, she was going to-

Diabla dismissed her gauntlets and walked over to him.

Her true form flickered around her like smoke, then solidified before she sank gracefully down onto the floor, sitting cross-legged.  She patted her thigh.

“Come here,” she ordered.

Painfully, Demonio dragged himself up, his cracked ribs and wrenched shoulder hurting with every move.  He barely managed to crawl over to her before giving out.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.

Diabla pressed her hand to his shoulder.  Demonio felt the gentle wash of healing magic like ice prickling through his veins, wrapping around the pain and making it nothing more than a memory as his shoulder and ribs strengthened once more.

“If you wanted attention, all you needed to do was tell me, Ciel,” she said, then took her hands away from him, leaving only the lingering ache of healing where he’d been injured.  Once again she patted her thigh.

Demonio obediently moved and lay his head in her lap.  He shut his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh as she began to comb his long hair with her fingers.

“He’s just using you,” she murmured.  “I’ll protect you, Ciel.  It’s okay.  I’ll even let you keep him around when we rise.”

Demonio felt exhausted.  Vaguely, he felt Diabla prodding in his mind, trying to find out if anything else had happened between himself and Dreadlord.  But there had been nothing.  Just him sneaking away, being a bad servant, and kissing Dreadlord when he should have been focused on her.  Her finger ran across his lips, wiping away the lingering feeling of Dreadlord’s kisses, and then he felt the leather of the mouthguard settle once again over his face.

She was kind, sometimes, he reflected, feeling her fingers press against his scalp as his mind folded into sleep.

She was still his Lu, no matter what.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Noblesse's coronation comes the end - or, perhaps, a new beginning.

The day of Noblesse’s coronation dawned bright and cold, though magic kept the inside of the palace warm.  Chiliarch sat on the top of Noblesse’s throne and idly kicked her heels against it.

“You should probably get down,” Dreadlord said absently, pacing on the steps of the dais.  Chiliarch frowned at him.

“You should probably stop pacing,” she responded.  Dreadlord gave her a withering look.  Then he sighed, climbed up to the dais, and dropped onto one of the smaller chairs behind the throne, running his hand through his hair.

“I know,” he grumbled before Chiliarch could say anything.  “I’m too nervous.”

Chiliarch sighed and jumped off the throne, dipping into the contract just enough so that the landing didn’t shock her, and spun to face the entire empty throne room.

“It looks bigger when there’s nobody here,” she commented, and tilted her head up, searching for the wards she and Noblesse had put in place last night.  They shone blue among all the other magic, the only twisting blue runes up there. Chiliarch frowned.  They’d have to hope Diabla didn’t look up.  She’d recognize contract-altering spells.

Dreadlord was still fidgeting.  Chiliarch glanced back at him.

“Nervous?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

She didn’t.  She could feel his nerves through the contract, and it was filling her with a sort of energy as well, making her want to move, to do something, to not be stuck here waiting for a torment that might not even work.

She spun around and walked over to Dreadlord, grasping his hands in hers.

“You remember our plan, right?”

Dreadlord’s gaze focused on her.  He nodded shortly.

“Don’t forget it,” Noblesse said.  Chiliarch jumped.  She hadn’t noticed Noblesse and Royal Guard come in, but they had, from the door hidden in the wall behind the throne.  Royal Guard looked immaculate as always, in shimmering blue satin, and Noblesse wore the old raiment of a demon queen, sized to fit her smaller body.

Even Dreadlord and Chiliarch had dressed up for this.  They were going to be on the steps to the dais, after all, along with Diabla and Demonio on the other side.  It was customary for the closest relatives of a soon-to-be-royal demon to line the steps of the dais, and the advisers to be seated along the back wall - a holdover custom from the days when the entire land was at war with itself and advisers and relatives had to be watched for treachery by the entire assembly.

Today, they were glad of that custom.  It would put Diabla and Demonio in a very prominent place.

Dreadlord pulled away from Chiliarch’s grip with a tiny apologetic touch to their contract, and stood.  Chiliarch stepped back and watched him walk up to Royal Guard, murmuring a few words of reassurance.

It wasn’t like Royal Guard needed it, she knew.  It was Dreadlord who was wound up tighter than a torturer’s whip.

“That ward is really visible,” Noblesse said quietly.  Chiliarch glanced over at her, then tilted her head up, nodding.

“Think we can cover it up without minimizing the effectiveness?”

“Maybe with other magic,” Chiliarch said, and raised her hands, feeling the icy power of fear rush through her body and raise the hair on the back of her neck.  “Something gaudy.”

“A spell to make glitter rain as soon as the crown is on my head?”

“That works.”

Noblesse acted first, shimmering blue power threading across the ceiling.  Chiliarch joined her magic after a moment of studying the spell’s pattern. When they were finished, the ward they wanted hidden was barely visible behind a flashy net of glitter.

“That won’t be suspicious at all,” Noblesse mused derisively, lowering her hands.  Chiliarch laughed.

“Your idea,” she reminded her.  “Besides, we used to be quite extravagant.  We just need Diabla to not notice.  To Elysion with everyone else.”

“True,” Noblesse agreed, then turned to Royal Guard.  “Ciel, there’s much to take care of before the ceremony.  Dreadlord, would you mind accompanying my Ciel to help?”

Dreadlord glanced over at Chiliarch, exasperation flooding the contract.  He’d wanted to see Demonio before their plan was carried out.  Chiliarch gave him a sympathetic smile and a not-so-sympathetic nudge, reminding him that Diabla would likely have Demonio on a tight leash before she planned to assassinate Noblesse.

That didn’t reassure Dreadlord.  But he sighed and turned to Noblesse.

“Alright,” he said.  “What do you need?”

Chiliarch watched them leave, talking about the guards for the hall and the food for later and other unimportant details, then promptly boosted herself up again to sit on the back of Noblesse’s throne, making herself comfortable.

Another holdover custom from old coronations was to have a trusted person watch the hall, to make sure no harmful magic or weapons were placed that could harm the queen-to-be.  Of course, they were already expecting one assassination attempt, but it was nice to be sure there wouldn’t be any others.

The time passed quickly for Chiliarch.  She’d waited thousands of years in chains, she could pass a few hours amusing herself with old rhymes and little plays of magic.  She watched the guards file in and take their places overseeing the hall, Royal Guard directing them and dipping his head to Chiliarch before he went out again.  To her surprise, he didn’t scold her for perching on Noblesse’s throne.  Huh.

She sent the news to Dreadlord.  Dreadlord responded with a choice comment and a few scenes that showed her Royal Guard had apparently become more lenient with him, as well.  Gone was the stiff servant who’d greeted them both when they arrived at Noblesse’s palace a week ago.

Chiliarch smiled.  A guard flinched.  She giggled.

More time passed.  Finally, Noblesse and Royal Guard returned, Dreadlord along with them.

“Everything okay?” Noblesse asked, glancing up at Chiliarch and frowning.  “By the way, that’s _my_ seat.”

“Not this part,” Chiliarch responded airily, but she jumped down anyways.  “Yeah, we’re all good.  The wards are still strong.”

Noblesse knew what ward she was referring to.  She stopped herself from glancing up and nodded.

“Alright.  Now we’re just waiting for Diabla, then?”

“Yep.”

Dreadlord tensed.  A moment later, Chiliarch heard it - the tap-tap-tap of heels, and the soft whisper of leather outside the throne room door.

“Hope we’re not late,” Diabla chirped, throwing open the heavy throne room doors easily even in her small body and almost bouncing in.  She was uncharacteristically cheerful, manic even, Chiliarch noted.  That was dangerous.  If she didn’t already know what Diabla was planning, she’d be suspicious.

Dreadlord’s eyes, she knew without looking, were on Demonio.  The other Ciel didn’t meet his gaze.  His visible eye was solely trained on the floor, not even flicking up to make eye contact like he normally would.

Was he alright?  Chiliarch frowned, then realized there was nothing they could do for him right now and dismissed the thought.  Worries would have to wait until after the coronation.

“You’re not late,” Noblesse answered Diabla.  “Chiliarch and Dreadlord got here first, so they’ll be standing on the right side of the steps.  You and Demonio are on the left.  I don’t have to coach you on how to place yourselves, right?”

“Of course not,” Diabla said before Chiliarch could even draw breath. She stepped up to the top step, just below the dais, and then turned to Demonio, snapping her fingers and pointing to the second step from the bottom.

“Down.”

Gracefully, Demonio lowered himself to one knee in the spot she’d designated.  Dreadlord nudged Chiliarch through the contract to point out Demonio’s mouthguard.  It was tighter than normal.

Weird.

They had the position down right, though, and Chiliarch sighed, glancing at Noblesse.

“And the fun begins,” she said mildly.

The comment elicited a scowl from Noblesse, but a hastily-hidden smile from Royal Guard, and honestly, that was good enough for Chiliarch.  She turned to Dreadlord.

“Positions?”

“Sure,” he said, shrugging, and walked down the steps to a spot across from Demonio, kneeling as well.  For the first time, Demonio’s gaze moved from the ground to Dreadlord.

He was scared.

Fear rolled off him in waves.  Chiliarch reached out and tried to calm it, but there wasn’t much she could do with Diabla right there and sure to notice any change in his emotional state, so she resigned herself to the acrid taste of fear and moved to stand across from Diabla.

Noblesse took her seat in her throne.  Royal Guard stood behind and beside her.

All six of them fell silent.  Chiliarch prodded Dreadlord through their contract, and Dreadlord responded with tense worry for Demonio.  Yeah, she’d kind of expected that.

The waiting was always the worst part before any battle, and it was the worst part before this coronation as well.  Chiliarch’s heart pounded as worst-case scenarios flitted through her mind  What if Diabla looked up and saw through the net?  What if Demonio had been acting on Diabla’s orders instead of betraying her and nothing was going to happen?  What if-

Dreadlord’s nervous anger cut her off.  She wasn’t helping with his own state of mind.  Chiliarch took a deep breath and, with an effort, calmed herself.

Nobles began to file in and take their seats.  Chiliarch studied them as they came in, seeing no trace of fear or nervousness on any of them, though she’d admit Demonio’s fear was sort of dampening her senses.

The seconds ticked by.  Chiliarch stood stiffly, watching the crowd gather until every seat in the throne room was filled.  Dreadlord and Demonio made sporadic eye contact.  Chiliarch made it a point not to look at Diabla.

Finally, Noblesse slammed her gauntlet down on the arm of her throne.  The room quieted instantly.  Chiliarch looked up at her alternate.

Noblesse stood and spread her arms.

“I, Noblesse, Luciela R. Sourcream,” she said, her voice magically amplified to carry to the farthest corners of the room, “am coronating myself as the Empress of Demons.  I hold the support of the Chiliarch, the Diabla, Angkor, and Sult himself.  Do any dare challenge me?”

Dead silence reigned over the crowd.  Chiliarch felt Dreadlord tense through the contract, her own heart contracting in on itself.  Would Diabla act now?  What would-

A flare of fear from Demonio gave Chiliarch not a second’s warning.

“Now!” Diabla hissed, and Demonio rose smoothly to his feet, the black sniper rifle materializing and clicking out and swinging to point at Noblesse in the span of a second or two.  Dreadlord scrambled to his feet and tackled Demonio.  The shot went harmlessly into the air, shattering a mosaic high on the wall.

Gasps and screams rose from the assembled crowd.  Diabla muttered a curse, black magic flickering around her.  Chiliarch gritted her teeth and summoned her gauntlets, then leaped towards Diabla in a move she’d done so many times with her Ciel.

“Stomp-!”

Diabla jumped back, the magic fading and her own gauntlets closing around her hands.  Noblesse still sat stiffly on her throne, staring at the ceiling with gritted teeth.  The net of concealing magic hindered her from the quick activation they’d planned.

“Fool,” Diabla snapped, blocking one of Chiliarch’s blows.  A sphere of dark magic exploded around her, and suddenly she was in her full adult form, smiling cruelly down at Chiliarch.

“Die, bitch,” Chiliarch snapped, and dodged Diabla’s strike.  She had to keep Diabla away so Noblesse could deal with the rune.   _Come on come on come on-_

A flare of panic pierced her contract. Dreadlord had tripped on the stairs.  Demonio’s blade sliced towards his throat.  Chiliarch slowed to help him, but then Diabla’s power crashed into her like a breaking wave, sending her to the floor.

“Damn,” Noblesse hissed.  Diabla laughed humorlessly.

“Damn meddler,” she said, stretching out her hand.  Black chains wrapped around Chiliarch’s wrists and disrupted her gauntlets.  “When you’re dead, I’ll train Dreadlord just like Demonio and make him perfect.  You’ve corrupted him.”

Diabla taking Dreadlord?  Diabla breaking Chiliarch’s Ciel down like she’d broken her own?  The image flashed in Chiliarch’s mind, Dreadlord on his knees, bruised and beaten, and hot rage flooded her body.

“Shut up,” she snapped, and recklessly snapped the chains, ignoring the ache as her mana depleted and scrambling up.  Diabla stepped back and cackled.  Chiliarch leaped at her, feinting for Diabla’s face, then swept her legs out from under her instead. Diabla stumbled and fell onto the steps of the dais.

“Chiliarch, _help_ ,” Noblesse gasped, her eyes on the ceiling.  Chiliarch stepped on Diabla’s back to keep her down and looked up.

The blue rune on the ceiling flared with Noblesse’s power.  Chiliarch added her own to it, strengthened by Dreadlord’s fear as he wrestled on the ground with Demonio and her own rage at Diabla’s taunt, tearing away the protection of Diabla’s contract.

The rune shattered.  An inhuman screech rang through the throne room.  The balance of power in the room fluctuated, then rushed to the other side like water in a tilted bottle, overloading Demonio’s mind with Diabla’s dark madness as Diabla’s powerful adult form reverted to her childish body.

Demonio flung Dreadlord off.  He skidded across the slick floor and into a column with a _crack_ that hurt Chiliarch’s mind.  She gasped through gritted teeth, stumbling away from Diabla and towards Dreadlord before she quite realized it.

Diabla shrieked again.  Demonio was struggling on the floor, shadows covering his form, his eyes wide with panic.

He convulsed once, twice, then an explosion of darkness knocked Chiliarch off her feet and ungracefully to her butt.  Yells of shock and wariness from both the guards and the assembled nobility filled the black hall.

Then the darkness receded.  A dark, shaky form solidified where Demonio had been, his eyes glowing, long blades of darkness in his black hands, a ghostly horn curving up from the other side of his head.

“Demonio!” Diabla hissed.  “What-”

“What is the meaning of this?” Noblesse cried out.

Dreadlord was moving now, propping himself up, shaking his head to get rid of the dizziness from that dreadful hit.  Chiliarch supported him through the contract.

Demonio stayed still.  Diabla glanced around the assembly, fear rolling off her in acrid waves.  Chiliarch could feel her trying to reach for her magic, but Demonio’s impromptu transformation seemed to be taking all of the power in their contract - just as she and Noblesse had planned.

“Transcendence,” Noblesse spat.

A hiss of condemnation ran through the room.

“This-” Diabla tried to defend herself, but Royal Guard was already there, one gunblade at her throat and the other pointed at the shadowform of Demonio.

Diabla’s eyes flashed.  Demonio wavered, then shot forward, one long blade reaching to pierce Royal Guard through the chest. Royal Guard deflected the blow.  Instead of piercing his stomach, Demonio’s blade grazed his calf, ripping open Royal Guard’s pant leg and slashing a deep cut.

Dreadlord’s panic alerted Chiliarch to a new danger.  Diabla scooted away and stared around at all the demons, her gauntlets forming once more.  Chiliarch jumped up and thrust out her hand.

“Abaddon!”

The ground trembled, then cracked as the bound Greater Demon wrenched himself from the dais with a terrifying roar.  Fear oozed from Diabla.  Chiliarch seized upon it and twisted, turning the fear into panic, then to full-blown terror until Diabla collapsed.

 _Karma_ , she thought viciously, and dismissed Abaddon, leaving a terrified Diabla staring at a discolored patch of the dais.

Royal Guard was falling back now, trying to parry Demonio’s furious slashes and stabs.  Through the contract, Chiliarch felt Dreadlord drawing on her strength.

She reached out to him.  Fear and desperate determination boiled over on his side of the contract, his eyes focused on Demonio’s transcended form.

Damn.  She couldn’t stop him, could she?  Chiliarch wavered for a moment, then stepped back, her eyes still on Diabla, and lent Dreadlord her strength.

Demonio lashed out again, slashing wildly, his strikes uncontrolled from Diabla’s fear.  Royal Guard fell back to parry better.  Dreadlord stood, almost collapsed, steadied himself, and staggered forward.

Demonio slashed sideways with both blades.  Royal Guard blocked him.  Demonio drew one blade back and lunged forward with a thrust.  Royal Guard tried to dodge sideways, but his injured leg caught under him and he stumbled, falling to the dais.

“Ciel!” Noblesse gasped, and a flicker out of the corner of Chiliarch’s eye told her Noblesse had formed a soul spear, aiming it for a deadly blow.

Dreadlord crashed into Demonio.

They staggered for a moment, Demonio trying and failing to slash at Dreadlord with too-long blades, Dreadlord wrapping his arms around Demonio’s chest and holding on tight.  Diabla tried to get up, but Chiliarch wrenched her fear again, sending her back into a quivering mess.

Demonio lost his balance.  Dreadlord went down with him, twisting them both so he landed on top, pinning Demonio to the steps no matter how hard he struggled.

“Dem, it’s me,” he whispered.  “Dem, please, look at me, remember, I’m Ciel, I’m Dread-”

Noblesse was helping Royal Guard to his feet now, running blue magic over his leg so it healed.  Chiliarch still held a tight grip on Diabla’s fear, keeping her in check.  And slowly, before the astonished eyes of the entire assembly, the shadows melted away from Demonio.

He stopped struggling.

Demonio panted, staring up at Dreadlord with his mouthguard askew and his hair disheveled, and Dreadlord looked back at him, relief and love flooding his side of the contract.  Chiliarch released Diabla from fear just enough that she could stand.

Demonio’s breath hitched. He flinched as Diabla got to her feet.

“You-” she hissed, venom and frost and cruelty directed at her servant.  Noblesse interrupted her.

“Transcendence,” she repeated.  “Diabla, did you push Demonio into Transcendence, planning to assassinate me?”

The nobility sat silent, stunned, though Chiliarch felt judgmental gazes turn to Diabla.  Fear and confusion hovered around them all like a bad smell.  Everyone knew a Transcended servant could be the ruin of their own lands, or even the demon kingdom.

Diabla tried to step back.  Royal Guard caught her by the arm and dragged her to side of the dais, holding her in a death grip.

Demonio went limp once again, staring up at Dreadlord.  Dreadlord moved so his body shielded Demonio’s face and quietly tugged down the mouthguard.

“Are you okay?” Chiliarch heard him ask, and Demonio gave a small nod.

Noblesse turned to Royal Guard and said a few words, too low for Chiliarch to hear.  Royal Guard hesitated, nodded, and forced Diabla to her knees.  She struggled and spat at him.  Royal Guard swayed out of the way to avoid it and tightened his grip on her wrists, stopping her gauntlets from appearing.

Noblesse held out her hands.  The crown of the demon empire materialized - black metal, sharp shards curved into a sort of graceful cruelty, chains hanging down in a headdress sort of thing.

 _Gaudy, really,_ Chiliarch thought, adrenaline still pumping through her body from the brief fight.  She was glad it wasn’t _her_ having to rule.

Noblesse held it up for the assembly to see, then lowered the crown onto her own head.  It was the way demon emperors had always been crowned.  Nobody wanted to offend the new ruler by claiming the authority to crown them.

“The Empress Luciela,” Royal Guard said, and a low murmur of assent went up from the crowd.  Normally there would be clapping, cheering - all very fake, but very enthusiastic - and a party.  This time, that all seemed to have been forgotten.  All eyes were on Diabla.

With another word from Noblesse, Royal Guard dragged Diabla to the front of the dais.  Noblesse sat down on her throne.

“This is neither the time nor the place to pass judgment,” she started, her ringing voice carrying over the crowd.  Diabla relaxed for only a moment, but then tensed again when Noblesse continued.

“But for the magnitude of your crimes, I think we will make an exception.”

Diabla struggled.  Royal Guard kept her firmly on her knees.

“Luciela R. Sourcream, Diabla, my own alternate,” Noblesse said, “you have shown evidence of pushing a human servant into Transcendence through contract.  You have attempted to assassinate the Empress at her own coronation, in front of witnesses, and reports from your kingdom prove excessive cruelty to your subjects.  Do you have a defense?”

Diabla hissed.  “You can’t be serious.  I’m fully within my rights to challenge you and rule over my people as I see fit.  There’s nothing you have against me except a petty personal dispute, obviously whispered to you by that traitor Chiliarch.”

Chiliarch felt Dreadlord’s anger wash over her.  She bit her tongue, trying to focus and calm him.

“And Transcendence?” Noblesse challenged.

Diabla was silent.  A murmur of disapproval went through the crowd.

Noblesse leaned forward.  Royal Guard took hold of Diabla’s jaw and tilted her chin up, forcing her to make eye contact.

“Five hundred years ago, everything you have done was acceptable,” Noblesse said, so quietly that even Chiliarch could barely hear her.  “Now, times have changed.  You will change your mindset like Chiliarch and I have done, or you will suffer severe consequences.”

Diabla hissed at her.  Noblesse frowned and leaned back again.

“I will not taint my coronation with a sentencing,” she said, her voice once again ringing through the throne room.  “Diabla, I pronounce you guilty of crimes against demonkind and against your own family, and bid you wait in the dungeons until I see fit to pass your judgment.”

The demons in the crowd stirred, unsure whether to cheer or hiss.  Royal Guard swept Diabla to her feet.  Chiliarch flicked her hand.  Chains of blue power snapped around Diabla’s wrists and ankles, binding her magic and her gauntlets at the same time.

Royal Guard hauled her out of the way.  Noblesse’s gaze switched to Demonio, and she paused.

Transcended demons were usually executed if they were out of control.  Chiliarch hoped Dreadlord had gotten Demonio out of Transcendence quickly enough.

The silence stretched on, Noblesse considering.  Royal Guard glanced over at his master.  Chiliarch bit the inside of her cheek.   _Don’t be a bitch_ , she prayed.

“Demonio,” Noblesse finally said, and anticipation ran through the crowd.  “You may stay.”

Instantly, nobles in the crowd shifted, discomfort and fear rising in mutters.  Noblesse had to raise her voice.

“You may stay,” she repeated, “so long as you stick by the side of the Dreadlord who can control your Transcended form.  A more permanent arrangement will be worked out at the time your master’s judgment is passed.”

The discomfort subsided, though Chiliarch could still feel some fear-fueled discontent among certain nobles.  She marked them out in her mind and turned back to Noblesse.

Noblesse smiled.

“You have a new empress.  The reception will be held in the courtyard.  All are welcome to partake.”

She turned to Royal Guard, signaling the end of the ceremony.  The assembled nobility immediately broke into chatter, murmurs of suspicion mingling with exclamations.  Chiliarch knew she and Demonio would probably have to stay longer than planned because of this, instead of roaming free like they preferred to do as the official ambassadors to Elrios.

She stepped up to the dais, walking over to Noblesse, seeing Royal Guard twist Diabla’s chains around his hand and drag her to a side exit.

“What are you planning to do with her?” she asked quietly.  Noblesse shrugged, watching Royal Guard as well until the door closed.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “I’ll figure something out - maybe confiscate her lands and titles, or push Demonio to you.  I’m sure you have a suggestion or two.”

“I do,” Chiliarch admitted.  “A few separate ones, actually.  But let me guess - now isn’t the time?”

“It’s not,” Noblesse agreed, and patted Chiliarch’s shoulder.  “Go make sure Dreadlord and Demonio don’t make out in the middle of my reception.  Oh, and have fun.”

Chiliarch made a face.  “I won’t until I’m back roaming Elrios,” she promised.  “Though I don’t know, Ciel might have some fun tonight.”

Noblesse snorted in a very unqueenly manner.  Chiliarch grinned and turned around, watching Demonio and Dreadlord.

Dreadlord was still straddling Demonio’s waist, though he was no longer pinning the other Ciel’s limbs down.  Chiliarch didn’t prod at the contract to know what they were saying.  This seemed to be a private conversation, one that her Ciel wouldn’t appreciate her barging in on.

Demonio reached up, his stained fingers caressing Dreadlord’s face.  Dreadlord smiled and leaned down.

Chiliarch covered her grin with her hand as their lips met.

Oh, sure, they still had work to do.  Elrios and the demon lands weren’t at peace, Diabla still needed to be sentenced, and they’d have to figure out if it was worth trying to repair the shattered contract between Diabla and Demonio.  But for now?

For now, Chiliarch felt happiness settle deep in her Ciel’s heart, and let the after-coronation chatter wash over her, and rejoiced in the feeling of victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind comments you've left on this fic! I've read each and every one of them, and if I didn't respond, it was because I honestly had no clue what to say. And before I get questioning comments: yes, the ending is purposefully vague. Feel free to imagine what happens to Diabla yourself - or, if there's enough interest, I may gear myself up to write a sequel. ;)
> 
> My tumblr is [blazingsnark](https://blazingsnark.tumblr.com).


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